


Lavender's Blue

by BuddingBriar



Series: Fairytales of Fortuna [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, BUT i took a lot of liberties and its not a rehash, Cinderella AU, F/M, Fluff, Magic Exists, Reader is Nero's mom, When I say V/reader I mean that VERY loosely, a lot of this is based at least a bit on the 2015 version, but he gains some v traits while in disguise so, like it's just vergil in disguise, reader is referred to as cinderella for most of this fic btw, slowish burn, the boys arent demon but whos to say they arent half of something?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27611782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuddingBriar/pseuds/BuddingBriar
Summary: Once upon a time, a scullery maid was once a maiden who lived peacefully in her home before her stepfamily began to treat her like a servant instead of family. Once upon a time, two princes lived happily with their family, until tragedy struck twice in the most awful ways, and the oldest prince became a king.Once upon a time, a king and a scullery maid fell in love.
Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Series: Fairytales of Fortuna [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021926
Comments: 55
Kudos: 145





	1. Once Upon a Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Vergil discord for hyping me tf up. Special thank you to Bun for suggesting this in the first place.
> 
> Future apologies to people named Isabella, Anna, and Scarlett skdjskdj

_Once upon a time, there lived a great king named Sparda. With striking white hair, crystalline blue eyes and the most debonair features, he was pined after by all sorts of people. But eventually when he did wed, it was for love. Something uncommon for royalty at the time. But love, to them, was the most wonderful and most powerful thing they shared._

_His queen, Eva, gave birth to two heirs—twin sons. Vergil, the older twin, and Dante, the younger twin. As the twins grew up, their personalities became rather evident; Vergil spent his time more in the royal study, surrounding himself in books and art and music. Fitting for the true heir, but he quite enjoyed his studies even then. Unlike his younger brother, Dante, who surrounded himself in swords and guns and hunting, a more boisterous fellow who always grew bored of schooling._

_But they were all happy._

_Unfortunately, this happiness would not last forever._

_One day, when the boys were eight, their father was killed in a hunting accident. And so, the kingdom was left without a king. But fret not; Sparda saw to it that his queen would stay in power. The mourning period passed, but the small family still remembered the father and husband with melancholy._

_Over a decade passed, and Vergil buried himself in his studies while Dante buried himself in his la dolce vita._

_Then, unfortunate happenings once again struck the royal family._

_Queen Eva, dearest maiden of golden hair and golden green eyes, became awfully ill._

_And we see here, as she lies on her deathbed, surrounded by her two wonderful loves, her last words of her life._

“I will not be gone,” she utters, sclera red with tears as she weakly cups her boys cheeks. The two hold her hands firm, allowing their own tears to build in their crystalline blue eyes. “I will just become infinite, my love scattered across the world. I will be in the brightest star, the most resplendent bloom, the loudest bird at dawn. Promise me you two will look out for each other.”

“Of course,” Vergil mumbles, grip tightening just a smidge. 

“Yeah, of course,” Dante echoes, rubbing her arm with his free hand. 

“Vergil, I have one last request. Please, take it to heart.”

Vergil nods, not trusting his diction as he thickly swallows.

“On the dawn of your twenty-first birthday, I wish for you to find love through a most grandiose ball, where everyone is invited. No matter who you fall for, be it noble or common, I want you to just be loved and to love in return. That is all I wish, that is all your father wished. Same goes for you, Dante, when your time comes. Please, promise me this last request.”

“I promise,” the boys simultaneously answer. Eva smiles weakly, sniffling as her boys hug and kiss her.

_And later that night, the wonderful queen was no more._

_And the next morning, a red cardinal sung at the top of it’s lungs._

* * *

_Once upon a time, there lived a family of three. Not royalty, nor even nobility, but that was quite fine to the family. The father a merchant, the mother a housewife, and their daughter, who helped diligently with the chores. Even without a status, they were still moderately wealthy, having a few servants to help with the chores. This family was known to be incredibly kind to all they came across, and never turned away a single soul who was in need._

_The daughter was especially patient, always taught to treat any animal with kindness. Even a small thing as a mouse, or big as a horse, she always was sweet to them. She believed in the strangest of things; of magic, of myths and legends. Of fairy godmothers, and the whispers of flora and fauna in her ears. But her mother and father didn’t discourage her, her imagination being a strong trait of hers._

_Unfortunately, not everything would be so happy. Perhaps similar to the fate of another, the mother grew ill after the daughter turned ten, spending her last days in bed. She took her daughter close, the father giving them space._

“My love,” she begins in a hushed whisper, eyes that she shares with her daughter misty. “All I have is one last request before I leave for the stars in the heavens.”

“Anything, mother,” the daughter whispers back, sniffling as she tries to stay strong. 

“Love, and love in return. Be kind to others as you always have. And never let anyone diminish your bright spirit. You’re too bright a star for others to snuff it out.”

“Mother…” The dam breaks, the daughter beginning to cry. 

“I love you so much, my littlest bloom. Look to me in the embers that keep you warm at night, the dresses I so tirelessly slaved over, the coolest of drinks that refreshes you in the hottest of summers, the worn pages of your favorite books. I will be there.”

_And later that night, the mother was no more._

_And the next morning, the daughter sat by the hearth, warmed by the light._

_But this is not where the story ends._

_The father had happened across another family in a nearby village five years later. He became acquainted with the man of the house, and they became good friends through letters and occasional visits. He had a lovely wife, and two beautiful daughters. However, the man soon died, leaving his wife and two girls behind._

_The father, decidedly, fell in love with the widow. With permission—_ ”You certainly didn’t have to ask me for permission to have happiness, father.”— _from his daughter, he married the widow._

_And so, the daughter had a stepmother and two stepsisters. Lady Isabella, and the two sisters, Anna and Scarlett._

_Now, the three women came off as rather cordial when they arrived at the chateau. Isabella, an older woman with light brown curls and a green dress who bowed her head with a smile. Anna, a girl with dark brown curls and a yellow dress who complimented the daughter’s hair with a beam. And Scarlett, a girl with blonde curls and an orange dress who giggled at a joke the daughter made._

_However, deep down, true colors can’t always be stowed away._

_About three years went by, the daughter growing up to be a beautiful maiden. She kept her mother’s words to heart—she stayed kind, and never let her bright spirit falter. Even as her stepsisters became more and more catty, even as her stepmother became more and more cold._

_Then, one day, her father left to be as he was—a merchant._

_And he didn’t return._

_A storm, the man traveling with him said. The father died chivalrously, focusing on his fellow traveler’s safety rather than his own. And that cost his life._

_The debt came swiftly, and with no other choice, Isabella laid off each and every servant in the household._

_And with no one else to do the chores, who would volunteer but the daughter herself? Surely, by selling things they grew, they’d get out of the debt quickly. The daughter knew her way around the duties, around cooking and mending._

_But no one raised a finger to help her. Not her stepmother, nor her stepsisters. Soon, she was moved out of her old bedroom to the attic. And soon, she was excluded from meals, and other family gatherings. The money earned from selling things was instead used on frivolous things, only a sliver used on the debt._

_And so, the daughter became a slave in her own home._

_Oh, right, you must want to know her name. After all, she is our heroine. Well, her name is—_

“Cinderella!” 

_Mm, I must explain. Due to the comfort the fire gave her, when the attic grew too cold, she instead slept by the dying embers of the hearth. And every morning, she would have ashes—_ cinders— _stuck to every inch of skin and clothing. It was unfortunate that her stepsisters caught her with such dirty looks the first morning this happened. And so, the name stuck._

_Poor, poor girl. Her true name locked away in her heart, never to see the light of day again._

_Well, perhaps not never._

_After all, there is a key keeper out there. He just needs to be found._

_And found, he was._

_But that is a different story. A story I’ll gladly indulge in, it’s one of my favorites._

_Just for all of you._

_Please, have a seat. Grab some herbal tea, and some biscuits. Perhaps I can find the fluffiest blanket I have…_


	2. The Lilly

“Cinderella!”

You awaken in the attic as you almost always have for the last year, a little hum leaving your throat. You sit up on the lumpy mattress, thin blanket being tossed off your figure. You rub your eyes, traversing the dusty living space. You never really have time to dust this old room, too busy with the rest of the chores. And so, you sneeze, groaning afterwards. 

You unlatch the window and shove the glass panes open, inhaling the fresh air and letting in the climbing sunlight. After a moment of looking over the forest, you hurry to your closet. You pick out a plain, simple red dress, pulling it on after removing your pajamas. After fixing your hair into a white cloth in the broken mirror, you hurry down the spiraling staircase. 

You step out into the back garden after throwing a basket on your elbow and a white apron around your waist, going over to the feed. You then feed the animals, from Wordsworth the horse, to the small gathering of roosters and the like. You go over to the coop after, knocking on the door as you would if you were a guest. You then open it with a smile. 

“Hello, chickies,” you coo, petting a nearby hen. They cluck in reply, of course just being chickens. “Nice eggs today, thank you.” You carefully take the eggs, placing them in your basket. Five in all, perfect. 

You feed the hens before going back inside, placing the eggs into a tin. You then heat up the stove with fire, placing pans down for eggs and bacon. You open the icebox, humming. You’d need to go to the market today to buy more meat. For now, you reach in and grab the bacon. 

Two servant bells begin to ring just as you finish the toast, making you softly sigh. It’d be midday before you could get to the market. You pour tea into teacups, portioning on the eggs and bacon and toast. All in the ways they like it. With practice, you manage to balance one tray on your head, the others in your hands. 

Anna is first, being the first room you come to and all. Anna snores away in her queen-sized bed, pulling the silk sheets closer to her as the sunlight streams in. 

“Anna, it’s time to wake up,” you say, setting down her tray. Anna mumbles something, pulling the covers over her head. You sigh. “Anna, please.” You gently nudge her with your free hand. Finally, Anna snaps awake, sitting up. She rubs her brown eyes before glaring at you, hmphing.

“Took you long enough.”

You mumble an apology before moving on to Scarlett. Unlike Anna, Scarlett is already awake, drawing something in her sketchbook. She looks up at you with frigid green eyes before snapping the drawing utensil shut, setting it down on her covers with the pencil. She doesn’t say a word to you, just snatching the tray out of your hands. So you say nothing either respectfully, moving on.

Your stepmother is last, you reaching upwards to take the last tray into your hands.

“Good morning, madam,” you greet as warmly as you can muster. 

“Morning,” she greets coldly, her green eyes staring you down as you set the tray on her bedside table. You bow your head. “Before you leave, Cinderella,” she begins, picking up her teacup and sipping lightly. “Make sure the laundry is done before ten.”

“Yes, madam. Um, madam, we’re running out of meat. May I request some coin to buy more at the market later today?”

Isabella gives you a long, frigid look for a moment before nodding. 

“Very well. But you will have to be back before lunch.”

“Of course, madam.”

You bow your head again before exiting. 

* * *

The market is a nice place to get away for a short while. You sold some vegetables and fruits before moving on to getting meat from the butcher. But before you can, a familiar shop catches your eye. 

_Belle’s Books._

The bookstore you so loved to visit as a child. You’ve always known it’s still open, but you’ve never had time to peruse the shelves as you once did. 

You glance upwards at the town’s grandfather clock. You hum to yourself, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. Two hours left… well, it only took twenty minutes to get here. If you only spent an hour, ran to the butcher and then go home...

Ah, why not?

You enter the bookstore, the _tinkle_ of the bell ringing into the shop. Belle, the woman of the hour, glances at you only once and a big smile grows on her face. She has lovely brown hair that is starting to show a little bit of gray, tied back in a gold ribbon, and cheerful brown eyes along with tanned skin. She wears a plain but lovely pink dress, a white apron around her front. 

“My sweet dear! Oh goodness, it’s been how long?” she calls. You warm up immediately, joyful that she still remembers you. You hurry over to the counter.

“Too long, Ms. Belle!”

You reach over the counter, you two sharing a hug. 

“Take your time, sweetie. I’ll always have all day for you.”

“Thank you so much. Unfortunately I can’t be too long.”

“Such a shame. Well, my door’s always open.”

“Of course.”

You go over to the nearest shelf, letting your fingers glide over the spines as you scan the titles. About ten or so minutes into your perusing, the _tinkle_ of the bell rings again. 

“Hello, newbie! I’ve got plenty of books for you to look at,” Belle greets. You glance over, curious as to who she’s talking to. 

The man, who is easily at least a foot taller—maybe six-foot-five?—peers down at Belle. He has wavy black hair parted at the left, some of his hair falling over his right eye, his eyes a rich green. He wears a black overcoat with swirling purple design, a black vest, and black breeches tucked into black boots. The only other touch of color is a white ascot, which sits obediently on his neck. His skin is pale, and you see a silver ring on his finger. He speaks quietly, to where only Belle hears him, the older woman nodding and greeting him warmly.

You go back to your perusing, not minding another customer. Why would you, really? Another book lover is always great to see. 

Soon, your fingers land on a book, and you ease your fingertips in to pull it out. You smile with nostalgia; William Blake, hm? Songs of Experience..

You open the pages, quietly admiring the art as you skim the pages. A warm voice suddenly speaks to you, making you turn. 

_“_ _The modest Rose puts forth a thorn: The humble Sheep, a threatning horn: While the Lilly white, shall in Love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.”_

It’s the mysterious customer from before, perfectly repeating “The Lilly,” which you just-so happened to be on. You beam at him, eyes crinkling.

“William Blake fan? Me too,” you reply kindly. “‘The Lilly’ is a lovely poem.”

The black haired man is quiet for a moment, only nodding in reply. 

“It is indeed,” he finally says. “I’m not used to others who appreciate his works.”

You giggle, turning back down to the pages. 

“My father was a big fan of his artwork. Bought a few of his poem books after he passed.”

The man nods, peering over your shoulder. You don’t mind this, simply flipping the page.

“I’m Cinderella. Are you new here?” you ask. “I’ve never seen you before.”

The man seems to hesitate. Is his ears turning pink?

“You may call me V,” he states finally.

“V?” you hum. “What a peculiar name.”

“My parents were peculiar folk.”

“I think that’s lovely.”

There’s a pause, and one side of V’s lips twitch. 

“Lovely indeed.”

* * *

“Come on, Verge. You haven’t left this study in months! Plus, you’d get to know your people.”

“Of course I have. Also, don’t call me that.”

“You know what I mean.”

Vergil rolls his eyes, placing “Songs of Innocence” back on the shelf as he turns to glare at his brother. Dante crosses his arms, pouting at his older brother. 

The two brothers are as they always have been; Dante annoying Vergil, and Vergil being annoyed by Dante. The two wear similar clothes, though Dante wears a red royal jacket while Vergil’s is blue. The swirling patterns are also different, Vergil’s design looking more like brambles while Dante’s look more like roses. They both wear vests, though Vergil wears a black ascot while Dante wears none. Dante wears white breeches, while Vergil’s is black.

“I am not going out to gallivant with your menagerie. I am perfectly content staying here. Besides, I am _king_ , Dante. Even if I _wanted_ to go out, I cannot.”

“You can always go in incognito!”

Vergil looks deadpan at his brother, steely eyes narrowing. With a sarcastic flick of his wrist, he points at the bone white hair that is brushed back in spikes, with one bang loosely hanging down. 

“If you need a reminder, dear brother, we’re the only people in the kingdom with this shade of hair.”

“I know, that’s not what I was talking about. I have some connections that could change your appearance all together!” 

Vergil glares at his brother for a moment, eyes narrowing further. He crosses his arms, mirroring his brother.

“You’ve been rendezvousing with witches again, haven’t you?”

“Oh, stop with the prejudice. The only spell they put me under is—”

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“They owe me a favor, Vergil. And you owe yourself some sunshine. Come on, I’ll even make it interesting.”

Vergil sighs through his nose.

“Who will take care of my duties, Dante?”

Dante smugly looks at his brother before brushing back his hair. Ah, the pros of being identical. Vergil gives him another deadpan look, but Dante stays firm. 

“I know how things run,” Dante says in an almost-perfect imitation of Vergil’s nasally cadence. 

Vergil rolls his eyes; Dante barely knows how to keep down a woman, much less run a kingdom. But… he supposes, his brother does bring up a good point. Still, he’d hear this “deal” before he’d make his decision.

“If you can last _three_ hours down in town, with no complaining or anything, I’ll do whatever you want. But if you can’t last, you do what I want you to do. It can be anything. A good challenge, don’t you think? Unless you’re too much of a coward to take it.”

If Dante knows anything about his brother, it’s that he loves a good challenge. And hates being insulted.

And considering the look in his older twin’s eyes, he knows he got him hook and sinker.

The next day, Dante tosses Vergil a silver ring. The older brother catches it easily, analyzing it closely. 

“Friend said once you wear it it’ll ‘bring out your inner appearance.’ It lasts as long as you keep the ring on your finger.”

Vergil glances up at his brother again.

“And you’ll take care of the kingdom for _three_ hours. Will you survive inhaling the smell of ink and parchment for that long?”

Dante places his hand on his chest in an offended fashion, mocking an upset look.

“Dearest brother, you wound me. I paid enough attention to our classes.”

“Right.”

Vergil hesitates—truly, he doesn’t _hate_ witches. They did try to heal his mother. However…

Vergil glances up at his brother again, who eagerly awaits the placing. Vergil sighs, and without another moment of hesitation, he slips the ring on.

There’s no dramatic flash, or build up, or anything of the sort. There’s a small waver around Vergil’s form, as if there was a burst of heat, making a wave. But then, King Vergil of the House of Luzi is no more. 

No more, as in appearance, of course. 

Instead stands in his wake a fine gentleman of the same stature, though decidedly less lean and more skinny, like a pole. Long, black hair brushes upon his shoulders, covering his right eye no matter how many times he idly brushed it back with his pale hand. Instead of his very fancy, opulent clothing, he stands in a long black overcoat with purple swirls, on top of a black vest with a white ascot, and black breeches tucked into black boots. 

His green eyes flicker from looking down to looking to Dante, who has a fist over his mouth.

“What is so funny?” even his voice is different, much deeper than Vergil’s usual nasal timbre. 

“You look like Edgar Allan Poe,” Dante says, and Vergil can tell with his wavering tone that he’s trying so desperately not to laugh. Vergil glares at him, crossing his arms, making Dante have to turn away with tears in his eyes.

“I’ll take it off.”

“No! No, go have fun, casanova.”

It’s only when Vergil leaves does Dante turn back, brushing his silver hair—which usually sat in his face, partially covering his eyes since he didn’t like haircuts—back in the iconic spikes, does he smile.

_‘You also look like mom, you idiot.’_

* * *

Vergil stands in the town square, feeling out of place. This was certainly different, seeing women and men from a very different social status mingle about. There is a market today, as there always is, a loud chatter in the air. Much different from the usual silence, or the occasional instrument playing. The many guards, butlers, maids, and other servants never really spoke in his presence. 

But here, he is, one of them. Even if for a measly three hours. He is no different from a peasant. 

No one picks up conversation with him, too wrapped up in their own thing. There are people selling, people buying, people talking, children playing. It almost makes him feel a tad overwhelmed. Is this what Dante really deals with every time he comes out here to gallivant with his entourage?

Brushing his hair out of his eye again, Vergil continues on in his walk. Maybe he could admit Dante was a little right; the sunshine really _did_ feel nicer than the artificial candles and light in his study. 

But whatever with that. He is already an hour in. 

Vergil glances upwards at different shop's names, finding one finally that catches his eyes.

 _Belle’s Books_ sits above a fully windowed building in curly cursive, built out of wood. Vergil, being the fan of books as he is, decides perhaps one look wouldn’t hurt. If anything, he’d at least see what his citizens were reading versus what he, royalty, read. 

Vergil opens the door, finding a lone woman behind the counter. The _tinkle_ of the bell above the door announces his arrival, making the woman stand straighter and her smile grow wider. Vergil walks up to the woman.

“Hello, newbie! I’ve got plenty of books for you to look at.”

“I am just a vagabond, ma’am,” Vergil replies, as he’s practiced. The woman nods.

“Well, enjoy our selection then, sir. My name is Belle, if you need any assistance, please ask. Or, ask my favorite customer over there. She knows all the ins and outs of this place. Been coming here since she was a youngin’,” Belle chuckles. Vergil looks over, spotting a shorter woman in a red dress. There’s a fond smile upon her face, looking at the books in a certain way that Vergil finds familiar. 

“Thank you,” Vergil says, as it’s only polite. 

Vergil was only going to really ignore her, truly. But the moment the woman pulls out a familiar book, made by a familiar poet, something inside him is drawn to her. Not to mention the oh-so fond, nostalgic look on her face with a certain light in her eyes. It’s almost like she is the sun herself, he a man lost in darkness who just escaped it. 

He is not sure of this feeling, nor can he place it. All he knows is he sees a certain drawing, and the poem simply falls from his lips. 

And when she asks his name, he doesn’t panic—certainly not. But it’s evident he forgot one piece of the puzzle.

His pseudonym. 

He feels his ears warm, and he knows the longer he thinks about it, the more possibility this woman will think he’s forgotten it. How awful that’d be, how _mortifying._

So, it comes out. 

“You may call me V.”

And he internally curses himself. 

* * *

“So, how did you happen upon William Blake, Mr. V?” you ask, flipping the page again as you skim the next poem.

“My mother, she loved to read his Songs of Innocence collection to my brother and I.”

“Really? Oh, you have a brother?” you cannot help but ask. “I only have two stepsisters,” you chuckle.

“Yes… he’s fairly… pestiferous,” V replies. You giggle, giving V another bright smile.

“I’ve heard brothers are like that.”

“They don’t lie about it. You, stepsisters?”

“Ah! Yes, my father remarried a few years back… They’re kind, in their own right.” Perhaps they were, or maybe you didn’t want to admit to a stranger your situation. Either way, V just nods.

“Are you looking to buy that?” V asks, pointing to the book. Your cheeks flush.

“Ah, I can’t. I need to use the rest of my savings on meat. We’ve been running out at home. But I might come back again. We’re still missing a few of his books to make the collection complete.”

V nods again, watching as you flip to the next page.

For the next half an hour, you and V make small talk about some innocuous things. How you both love Mozart, more about how you two admire Blake, and a few other poets you two like—he, Edgar Allan Poe, and you, Mary Shelley, for example—and a few other miscellaneous things. You didn’t notice how quick the time had gone by, not until the clock chimes.

You flush, glancing outside. 

“I’m sorry to cut this conversation short, but I must get to the butcher and go home! Forgive me, I seem to have talked almost a whole hour away,” you apologize, bowing your head.

“Think nothing of it. It was pleasant to have a conversation with you… will you be here again?”

“I come to the market once every few days, so yes. Be seeing you, Mr. V!”

“Goodbye, Ms. Cinderella.”

You beam at him, and quickly hurry off to the butcher. 

* * *

Later that night, as you finally get to retire by the dying embers, too tired to climb the stairs, your mind still wanders to the mysterious V. How kind and gentlemanly he had been. Would he truly want to see you again? You, a scullery maid in your own home?

You shyly scratch your cheek in thought. Perhaps you’d just have to see, when you go to the market again. 

You close your eyes with a small smile.

* * *

“So, how’d it go?” Dante asks, already knowing. Vergil hadn’t stayed for three—he stayed for _four_.

“Fine, brother. You’ll be reading a poem from any of Blake’s books and giving me a detailed analysis of it, all in ink.”

“Vergil! You know I hate doing detailed analysis!” Dante whines.

“No whining. You promised.” Vergil says, hiding a quirk of his lips. 

“So, what made you stay?”

Vergil pauses. “The people are admittedly pleasant, as you claim.”

Dante grins.

“Will you be going again?”

Vergil doesn’t reply, only pulling out a random book of Blake’s and chucking it in Dante’s general direction. The brother catches it, of course, with a sigh and pout. 

“Goodnight. You have a lot of reading to do.”

Dante groans as Vergil retires to his chambers.

As Vergil gets ready for bed, he still can’t fathom why he was so patient with the woman in red—Cinderella. Usually, he hates when people blabber for long amounts of time, preferring to-the-point conversations. And yet, it was rather charming how much she talked to length about what she liked. 

Despite all this, Vergil shoves the feelings away. Tomorrow would be another day of kingly duties. 

But perhaps… he will go do as he implied, in a few days time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEED TO BE DOING AN EXAM RIGHT NOW SBDJSBDJSD


	3. A Broken Song

“Mr. V! It’s nice to see you again!” you greet cheerfully, finding him in the market this time. V smiles and waves as you catch up to him, matching his pace. 

“Buying things?”

“Mmhm. I sold some of our fruits and vegetables the other day before I met you, but today is just a buying day. What about you?”

“I like to just peruse,” V replies. You nod, pausing.

“Oh, something smells good in the bakery.” You head over, sticking your head in. Freshly baked goods are laid out, from breads to pastries and the like. You take in the aroma, wishing you could spare a coin to buy something. You had to skip breakfast to help the sisters with their bath. 

“Would you like to buy something?” V asks, spooking you. 

“No, I can’t. Money’s only for buying market things.”

There’s a pause as you begin to walk away.

“It’ll be my treat.”

You turn to V, flushing lightly.

“Really? You don’t have to.”

“I insist. For a friend, if nothing else.”

He considers you a friend?

You beam, eyes crinkling.

“If you do insist. But I wish to pay you back.”

“For now, your company is enough.”

You nod shyly, V opening the bottom half of the cut door. 

“I suggest their tarts. They’re always so delectable.”

“I’ll take that into account.”

Your mouth begins to water the closer you get to the display, placing one hand on your cheek as you try to pick out your choice.

“Hello, Cinderella,” the baker, Francis, greets. He is a stout man, with a friendly face and oh-so kind brown eyes. He brushes his blonde hair back with a pale hand, a thing he did frequently after taking off his hat. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Forgive me, Francis. I’ve been awfully busy.”

“I can tell,” he chuckles. You take an apricot tart, and due to your suggestion you think, V takes a blueberry one. 

“How much?” V asks. “For both.”

Francis blinks, having not realized you two were together. He eyes V for a moment, and then answers. V pays the amount graciously, dropping the coins into Francis’ palm.

“Who is this, Cinderella?”

“My new friend! His name is V, he… well, I don’t know what you do, do I?”

V chuckles, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid you don’t. I’ll indulge you once we leave.”

You nod.

“Good day, Francis!”

Francis waves with a grin. You bite into your tart, looking up at V. He still holds his tart, looking rather pensive. You swallow, feeling a little sheepish.

“Ah, you don’t need to tell me truly. I admit I’m curious, but we all have secrets don’t we?”

V shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. 

“It’s quite alright. I… work at the castle.”

You flush, looking up at him while blinking rather owlishly. 

“You… what?”

V nods, pausing in his gait. You follow suit, standing in front of him as you take another bite of your tart, much more nervous this time.

“I do, indeed. I just left an apprenticeship for the actual thing myself.”

“Wow… so do you work with the king and the prince, then?”

“...Sort of. I translate things the king gets from different countries.”

“You’re bilingual?”

“Quadrilingual, excluding English of course. French, Japanese, Latin, and Italian. I’m still learning more languages, I’m currently working on Spanish.” He says it in a specific way as if it's a statement, rather than a brag.

“Mr. V, that’s amazing! Oh, should I call you like, Sir V? Do you have a special title I should be calling you?” you fret. V chuckles, shaking his head.

“No, no. Mr. V, or just V, is fine.”

“I see. Forgive me still if I’ve ever been too much to handle.”

“Not at all. You’ve been perfectly companionable.”

You bite into your tart again, too flustered to speak. V watches you for a moment before finally doing the same.

It’s the second best tart he’s ever had.

* * *

Vergil isn’t sure exactly  _ why _ he feels relaxed in this woman’s company. He listens to her go on about other suggestions of places he should try without a hint of irritation. 

“And there’s a pizza place, I heard Prince Dante likes going there often… but it truly is mouthwatering. I haven’t had a slice in a while, however. I’ve been awfully busy,” Cinderella states while buying some vegetables from the stand. 

“What do you do for a living?”

Cinderella seems to hesitate, nibbling on her bottom lip for a moment. After scratching the bridge of her nose, she answers.

“I’m a maid in an exquisite home. The lady of the house sends me off occasionally to get things here. We also grow things too, however, so that’s why I don’t always come here for things like vegetables. Usually meats, or things like dresses and silks if her daughters wish for it. But it’s nice to have variety once in a while.”

“I see.”

Vergil follows as Cinderella goes on about the town, greeting people occasionally as she either buys or chats about current things. 

“Well, I must get home. Thank you again for keeping me company, Mr. V. Good luck with traveling! I’ll see you in a few days, yes?”

Vergil simply waves and nods Cinderella waves goodbye, leaving off. Vergil turns back around, moving towards the castle.

It’s rather peculiar how confident he feels when he’s V. 

Her smile is nice, he decides.

* * *

You arrive only five minutes before you have to prepare lunch. You hurry around, making sandwiches along with the three’s preferred teas. Earl gray for Isabella, chamomile for Anna, and hibiscus for Scarlett. You can balance all the food on one tray this time, knowing where they would all be. 

Isabella sits in a chair, modelling for Scarlett as Anna plays the piano—terribly. You gently place the tray on the table before hurrying around to give them their appropriate teas and sandwiches. 

“Do our laundry now, and also clean out the ash from the fireplace when you’re done,” Isabella orders, not even looking at you as you hand her her tea.

“Yes, madam,” you reply, hurrying out just as Anna begins to sing ‘Oh Sing Sweet Nightingale.” You hate to be rude, but Anna sings rather… off-key, is a good way to put it. You don’t comment of course, going to their rooms to collect all the laundry. 

* * *

As you finish pinning the last stocking on the clothesline, you hear a broken song of a bird somewhere close. You pause, finishing the pinning before you turn to face the rest of the area.

A raven with a broken wing caws mournfully into the air in the middle of your farm. You gasp, rushing over and kneeling beside it.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmur. You take the scarf off your head, carefully wrapping the cloth around the bird. It seems to nuzzle into your hands, which makes you smile softly. “I’m sorry, I cannot bring you inside. My stepfamily is rather superstitious, you see. But the barn should be warm enough. Come along.”

You carry the bird into said barn, oh-so gentle as you make a makeshift nest out of hay and an abandoned box. You place the bird in, going over to a small dresser pushed up at the corner. You pet the lone horse, Wordsworth, before grabbing a role of bandage out of the dresser. It’s for injuries that happen outside, from the days of servants and when your house had more light and laughter. You also grab some scissors, and go back to the raven.

You unroll the bandages, cutting the cloth at an appropriate length.

“Is it ok to see your wing?”

The raven seems to hesitate, before moving it’s wing as best as it can. You frown, mindful as you wrap the wing up. This isn’t your first broken wing, but it’s always heartbreaking to see.

“There we go, all better. It takes a while to heal, but I’ll make sure you’re fed and watered properly. Then, you can go see your family again. I’m sure you have one that misses you, don’t you?”

Of course, the raven doesn’t reply, only pushing its wing back to its body. You gently lift your finger, petting it’s head. It leans into this, making you smile slightly. 

“You need a name… Something tells me you’re a girl, so… Patricia! A wonderful name for a wonderful raven. Get some rest.”

You turn to Wordsworth, teasing as you cross your arms.

“I have to clean the ashes, Wordsy, so be kind to our guest, alright?”

The horse just blows air out of his nose, sticking his nose close to you. You giggle as he leans into you, you reciprocating by hugging him.

You see a familiar rooster come in as well, and you tsk.

“You too, Griffon! I better hear no funny business!” Just to be safe, you place the lid on the box after poking holes in with the scissors. The rooster just clucks at you, and once more since you were a child you wish the animals could talk back. 

You leave for the fireplace, and before dinner, you make sure to feed and water Patricia. Before you leave, you’re surprised to find a familiar black cat guarding the box. She has a shiny red ribbon tied around her neck, which you so carefully gave her the day she wandered on the property.

“Shadow? Oh, what a good kitty you are,” you coo, scratching under her chin. She purrs, leaning into your touch. You give her a little peck before going back inside. Shadow’s always been the queen of the neighborhood, always making sure the farm animals stay in line. She’s just as good as a herding dog, which your father joked about before he died. 

You blink, then gently nudge the thought away. You have no time for tears; if you did cry, your stepfamily would just poke fun. You hold your head high, going back inside to fix yourself something quick before another chore came to mind.

* * *

A few weeks go by, you and V meeting almost every day you go to the market. Sometimes you just talk and talk, sometimes you browse the bookstore, or eat together. The summer slowly withers away to fall, so you wear slightly warmer clothes. A scarf, mittens, that sort of thing. Old things your mother used to own, of course. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. V,” you greet. Today, you were sent to get coffee beans and the like since it was only getting colder. He greets you with a smile and short wave. He sits alone on a bench, holding a book with a large ‘V’ on the cover.

“Hello, Cinderella,” he replies. 

“What are you reading?” you ask, sitting next to him with the tin of beans. 

“William Blake.”

“Ooh, of course,” you chuckle. “May I take a peek?”

He adjusts the book so you can do so, and you lean to admire the pictures.

“Can I read you a passage?”

“Of course!” 

V clears his throat, tucking the hair that falls over his right eye behind his ear.

_ “O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained…” _

You listen to the poem, smiling as you recognize it. V’s voice is incredibly crisp, soft and kind. 

“ _...Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.” _

“That was wonderful! My father loved reading Blake’s seasonal poems every time they started showing.”

“Looks like your father and I have something in common.”

You giggle, shifting the tin into your lap.

“I suppose you two do.”

* * *

When you got home, Patricia is up and about, her wing looking much better than it did when she first arrived.

“Hello, Pat. Are you ready to try to fly today?”

She just caws at you, hopping along your feet. You giggle; you know ravens can stride too, and usually she does after she was able to walk. Looks like she’s doing it for fun.

You guide her out of the barn, helping her up to the top of the fence. She ruffles her wings, and your smile turns a little sadder as you see it looks correct. She must be going today, then.

“Do be careful. Tell your family I said hi, won’t you?”

She caws, and with a magnificent flap, she begins to soar!

“Goodbye!” you call, waving frantically. You admire her flight, a mist falling over your eyes. Ah, don’t cry, don’t cry.

You turn away, Shadow awaiting your acknowledgement. You smile, and crouch. The feline stretches and then does the charming little wiggle before jumping up on your shoulders. She balances easily as you walk over to the clothesline. In a few months time, you’d have to lay these by the fire instead of hanging them up. The stepfamily certainly don’t like finding icicles in their clothes, you found out in a hard fashion. 

Just as you pluck the last bloomer from the line, a certain raven perches on it. You gasp quietly. 

“Patricia? What are you doing here? Your family misses you, don’t they?”

The raven simply caws, and leans towards you. You reach up, petting her from head to tail with a single finger. 

“You’ll be staying?” you ask with hope. She simply caws again. “If that’s a yes, then you’re always welcome to the barn. As you know, it’s very warm in there.”

Without your knowledge, two forms watch you from a window before stepping away. Shadow leaps off your shoulders with a meow, and you go inside with the three baskets to give the laundry back. 

When you enter the dinning room, your stepsisters are giggling. You ignore them, but Anna pipes up anyway.

“Talking to the animals again?” Anna giggles with an impish grin. 

“You’ve truly lost your mind. Poor, poor Cinderella, can’t even have  _ human _ friends she’s so weird,” Scarlett adds.

“I-I have human friends,” you stutter, flushing. 

“Must be out of pity. Can’t even afford to buy new clothing,” Anna tsks. You simply take the insult, not wanting to get punished for talking back. 

“Now girls, what is all the fuss about?” Isabella asks, empty teacup in hand. 

“Cinderella’s been talking to farm animals again.”

“Including a raven!” 

Isabella scoffs.

“Cinderella, don’t embarrass us please. You’re nineteen years old for heaven's sake.”

“Yes, madam.”

Isabella then “trips,” the teacup falling from her hands. You wince from the contact of porcelain on wood, the poor cup shattering on impact.

“Ah, pick that up won’t you?”

“Yes, madam.”

You only prick your finger once, at least. 

And tomorrow, you remind yourself as you finish cleaning up, you will be seeing V again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to update off schedule hehe. I can't promise I'll have a completely concrete schedule as right now I'm in college, but I do want to try updating this story every other day. This story is much shorter than something like my other project Hie Thee Home (which updates every Friday, for now) so I don't want to wait too long for each update.


	4. Christmas

Weeks turn to months. Almost every day you go to the market, V is there. You begin to wear purple dresses, since you have more long-sleeved ones in that color. 

With November pushing into December, even if you won’t get anything this year, you still look forward to Christmas. 

“Any Christmas plans, Mr. V?” you ask, brushing away some powdery snow from the bench. 

“It’ll just be spent in my study, I think.” He flips the page of his book.

“You don’t get a break? How dreadful.”

V smiles slightly, something you’re glad to see more and more of as of late.

“Nothing to worry about. I love my job.”

“Still. Can’t even celebrate it with your brother?”

V shrugs, flipping the page of his book.

“We do have dinner together. But nothing much past that.”

“I see…”

V glances at you.

“And you?”

You hum.

“I’ll just be working as well, probably. I’m afraid I don’t really have anyone to celebrate with.”

“Not even your lady and her daughters?”

You pause, tapping your fingers together.

“No. She and her daughters go to a Christmas party for three days. They usually don’t return until the morning of the twenty-sixth.” Which is true. Isabella is already ordering new dresses and makeup for Anna and Scarlett.

“That’s a shame. Christmas all alone…”

You chuckle softly.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. I’m used to it.” 

It’ll be your second Christmas without…

“Perhaps we should meet one last time before the holiday sets in,” V suggests. You flush.

“Really?”

* * *

Vergil has to admit at least one thing; Cinderella has truly grown on him. From their conversations about their day-to-day, to getting pastries, and talking about teas and current books. For only an hour, at most three, he’s able to not be King Vergil of the House of Luzi. 

He’s simply “V,” a rather silly pseudonym still. He always thinks Cinderella is going to eventually ask if he has a full name, but no, she just sticks to V. 

And he has to admit, when he  _ is _ gone, Dante does a decent job at things. Of course, Vergil makes sure that Dante has little to no paperwork before he leaves. But when there is one or two documents Vergil didn’t get to, Dante seems to have a good grasp on what Vergil would do.

And honestly, the way Dante is able to mimic his voice  _ is _ a little scary.

But this whole… rendezvous will end soon enough. In only six more months, he will have to throw a ball. A ball which V cannot attend, not without a lot of pulling strings and trickery. Where Vergil has to be king, in his true shape. 

And if Cinderella were to go, he would have to reveal himself. 

Deep down, truly, he didn’t want her to think V was lying. He abhors the thought of making her upset. 

But cast those feelings aside. He made a promise to his mother on her deathbed. He would  _ never _ break that. No matter what feelings got in the way. There has to be a queen at some point, even for political gain. Vergil knows what he must do for his kingdom. To produce an heir is very important as well. 

So… either he told Cinderella now, or at least before the ball, or…

“Really?” Cinderella questions with a smile, her lustrous eyes seeming to light up in the sun. 

“Really.”

How could he tell her? How could he tell the one person he fears the most to know that he is king? Surely with how she reacted when he half-truthed about being a translator, it’d be so much worse…

He locks away the thoughts for now.

* * *

The day before Christmas Eve comes quickly, Isabella and the girls packing up for the carriage. You and the footman place the suitcases on the back, making sure everything is secure. 

“And make sure you don’t mess anything up more than you already have, Cinderella. I expect this house to be spotless when we arrive.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Good.”

And once they leave, you feel like you can breathe for the first time in a long time. 

* * *

You arrive in town not too long afterwards, clutching blue material in your fingertips. Something you so tirelessly knitted for the last few weeks, whenever you had time. A blue scarf specifically, with white trim. You’re sad to say that you don’t have a good box to put it in, but hopefully he’ll be alright with you just presenting it. 

Even if the thought made you feel a tad guilty. 

You sweep some snow away and await V’s arrival. Which doesn’t take long, thankfully. He carries two things under his arm, one of them being his usual Blake book.

“Good afternoon, Cinderella,” he greets kindly, sitting next to you. You smile as always, flushing.

“Good afternoon, Mr. V.”

V then presents a bulky package, wrapped with ribbon. You gently take it, and present the scarf in return.

“Sorry, I couldn’t procure proper packaging for it. I’ve been awfully busy,” you say sheepishly. V shakes his head, wrapping the scarf around his neck after admiring the knitting.

“It’s mighty fine. Unwrap yours.”

You do so, gently tugging the ribbon and tucking it into your coat pocket for later. You inhale, a fond smile growing on your face.

“You did talk about wanting it so much.”

William Blake’s “Songs of Experience” sits in the wrapping. You gently take it into your hands, and press it tightly to your chest.

“Thank you, Mr. V,” you whisper softly. “I am forever grateful.”

“As am I with your scarf. You knitted this?”

“Of course. The extra love put into stitchwork makes things all the warmer, my mother used to say.”

V nods, and you swear you see his ears flushing pink. Perhaps just the cold. 

“I love it,” he replies softly. You shyly rub the bridge of your nose, smiling just as shy. “We should get something warm. Is the cafe open today?”

“Yes, it is! We should,” you agree. V stands, running his gloved hands on his pants for a moment before holding out an arm. You stand straighter, flustering as you recognize the gesture. 

You stand, taking his arm into yours after holding the book in your hand. You begin to walk to the cafe.

Perhaps, if you weren’t focused on the walk, you would’ve noticed the glances V gave you as you headed there. 

* * *

“There’s this raven that’s been visiting me, ever since I fixed her broken wing. It’s such an odd thing; I’ve had broken wings before, but the birds never returned. At least, not as frequently. She’s even here when she should’ve gone south by now.”

V hums, sapping the heat from his teacup which rests in between his hands. You have your new book open, looking at the pictures inside while a steaming cup of hot chocolate sits beside it. 

“Maybe she’s attached? Or perhaps has family?”

“That’s what I keep thinking too. But she immediately returned after her wing was fixed. She’s been coming back every day since then. Just watches, sometimes she’ll perch on my shoulder.”

“Maybe she just likes you.”

“Perhaps she does… Still, I am a little bit worried. Even though the barn is always open to her, birds shouldn’t be here in this weather.”

“You cannot bring her inside your home?”

You sip your hot chocolate for a moment, feeling a bit ashamed.

“The lady and her daughters are superstitious. It’s rather lucky they haven’t hired a marksman to kill the poor dear.”

V’s lips thin into a line.

“I see. Well, I’m sure the barn will be fine.”

You simply nod, taking a bite of your muffin. 

“You really care about animals then?”

“Yes, of course. Animals are much smarter than we give them credit for.”

“I can’t help but agree,” V says, sipping his blueberry tea afterwards. You smile.

“It’s good to hear that someone agrees with me. That last time someone did was my mother and father.”

V doesn’t reply, taking a bite of his raspberry pastry. You sip more of your cocoa, sneaking a glance at how serene V looks as he peers down at your book. 

Finally, he speaks. “Well, I think it’s good you look out for animals. Feels like a rare thing these days.”

You smile in appreciation.

“Thank you, Mr. V.”

The rest of the time is spent in silence, just reading your individual books. But it’s not an unwelcome silence. A comfortable one, like a warm blanket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little cutesy filler. I still had a lot of fun writing this one I love doing fillers


	5. Mr. Tony

Never, for the rest of the life, will you forget the cruel smile Isabella gives you as she tells you what happened to your father’s belongings. It’s now February, soon to be your father’s birthday.

“We had to sell some things, dear. He’s not around anymore, who is to miss them?”

 _‘Me!’_ You wish to cry. _‘I would!’_

But no, you wordlessly watch as the last of your father’s things is packed away. A few things, like his Blake collection, you had managed to save long before you thought this would happen. But it was still so _painful_ , so utterly _agonizing._ When your stepsisters laugh in your face, that’s the last straw. And so, you run. 

You hop on Wordsworth, and he brings you out into the meadow where you and your father and mother once played. Looked for fae, and magic, and portals, and everything in between. Tears fall from your eyes, but you try so desperately to wipe them away. Having tears in your eyes while on a horse isn’t ideal. 

You pull on his hair, just barely noticing a stag cross your way until the very last second. You gasp, clutching Wordsworth tightly as he whinny’s and bucks on his hind legs. 

“Whoa, whoa Wordsy, it’s ok boy,” you soothe. He lands back on his hooves, snorting. The stag stares at you, eyes boring into your own. “Hello, sweet one. Sorry for startling you,” you utter sweetly. The stag flicks his ear, huffing air out of his nose. You smile, wiping away your tears. 

You would’ve moved on, but you then hear horns and a group of voices approaching. A rock forms in your stomach; a hunting party. 

“Oh no—stag, little stag, please, you must hurry. They’ll kill you if you don’t leave.” 

The stag keeps staring at you, ears flicking.

“Please, Mr. Stag! Hurry!”

Finally, it’s almost as if the stag hears you. He jumps away, far from the hunting party. 

Startled by the loud noises and thumping of horses, Wordsworth once again gallops off without permission. You shriek in surprise.

“Whoa! Wordsworth, easy boy! Slow down!” you cry, trying desperately to calm your horse down. 

“Whoa! Hey! Ma’am! You alright?” an unfamiliar voice calls. 

“I’m fine, thank you!” you call back. The man belonging to the voice still catches up to you, helping calm the horse.

Finally, Wordsworth slows into a small walk. You pet his hair before turning to your rescuer. 

And your breath is snatched from your mouth.

He’s awfully handsome, with bright blue eyes and a red overcoat over a black vest with white breeches. However, what really catches your attention is the bright white hair he sports, which hangs around his face.

Prince Dante. 

You swallow thickly. 

“You-you’re Prince Dante.” You have a mind to jump off Wordsworth and curtsey as low as you can. But you’re stuck on that horse, too frozen to move. 

“That I am,” Dante replies with a smug grin. “And who might you be?”

“Cinderella, your highness,” you reply anxiously. Dante reaches and grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. There’s a flicker of emotion in his eyes, but you cannot place it quick enough as it disappears into his irises. 

“Greetings, Cinderella. Say, have you seen a stag around here?”

“I have, actually. But you scared the poor thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was scared to death. Of course I let him go free. He’s far away now,” you say a little more confidently. Dante snorts.

“Why? Is he a friend of yours?”

“Not really, we just met. But I saw the look in his eyes and the way his body moved and… I knew he had plenty of life in him worth living still,” you explain. Dante lets out a hearty laugh.

“Aren’t you interesting? I’ve never heard of someone letting such a fine stag get away like that.”

You go to reply, but then you hear the horns again along with voices approaching.

“Don’t chase after him, please. He deserves to live.”

“We’re hunting, Lady Cinderella. It’s what we do.”

You feel even more anxious, but to stand up to the prince for an innocent animal is what you will do.

“Just because you do something doesn’t mean you should actually do it,” you snap, sitting taller on Wordsworth, trying to keep down your anxiety. Dante laughs again, shaking his head.

“You really are a strange woman, Lady Cinderella. Well, I’ll just have to see won’t I?”

You give him a pleading look, and he sighs.

“Fine, I’ll make sure to steer them clear.”

“Thank you.”

You miss the way Dante stares at you, repeating your name over and over under his breath.

* * *

Really, you can’t blame Dante for an accidental snoop. It happened by an accident, on his brother’s part. 

He was sitting at his desk, dressed up as him in his blues with his hair brushed back. He even shaved today! All so Vergil could go out as “V” or whatever and see the people.

Thing is, he’s not sure _why_ Vergil goes out so much. He expected maybe once or twice, but not nearly every week every few days. It’s obvious his brother is going back for something, but what? The food?

Dante chuckles. His brother’s tastes were too hoity-toity. 

So, what would he happen upon but his journal? Facing up, open to a specific page. Hell, Dante couldn’t tell if the ink was dry yet or not. 

And so, Dante might’ve just snuck a little peek. Just a little one, nothing more. As he was closing the journal, even. 

_Cinderella loves apricots._

And Dante grins.

So really, you can’t blame him for realizing that _this_ is the elusive Cinderella that has snagged his dearest brother’s attention.

* * *

The man of the hour bursts into his brother’s study, arms wide as the French doors swing to the walls. Vergil doesn’t look up, reading glasses on as he writes something on parchment. 

“Not so harsh, Dante. Unless you want to repair the glass yourself,” Vergil simply snips, pressing his white hair back as it begins to fall.

“Sorry, I’m just rather excited.”

If there was anything Dante was good at, it was annoying his brother. 

“So, Vergil, I came across this rather perplexing maiden today while on the hunt.”

“Dante, how many times do I have to tell you, I am _not_ interested in your—”

“Oh, Vergil, come on you’ll be interested in this one.”

“I doubt it.”

Dante places his elbows on the desk, right on top of the parchment Vergil is writing on. Vergil looks up at his brother with a glare, before tugging the paper out from under his intrusion. 

“She was this alluring figure, wearing a short-sleeved purple dress and a blue ribbon in her hair. She was riding a horse without reins or even a saddle, as well,” Dante recalls.

“That’s splendid,” Vergil deadpans.

“She has this rather uncommon name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it. Cinderella, it was.”

Vergil keeps writing, but his hand slows. 

“Anyway, the ball is in four months right? I think I’ll ask her to be my date. She managed to change my mind about hunting a stag in under a minute. Never met a woman like that. It was also adorable how shy she was."

“That sounds great, brother.” Dante’s eyebrows raise as he hears how much softer his voice has become. 

“I think you want to hear more.”

“Not really, no.”

Dante sighs, standing straight and crossing his arms.

“Vergil, I know.”

“I’m glad you—”

“No, I mean, I _know_.”

Vergil finally looks up at his brother, really looks at him, as he swipes off his glasses.

“For how long? Why did you snoop through my things?” Vergil inquires with a growl. 

“Since October, and I didn’t mean to snoop, it was you who left your journal open! I was closing it when I saw a rather feminine name on the pages.”

Vergil groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“My big, stick in the mud brother. In love with a commoner!”

“I don’t _love_ her. She is just a friend.” 

“Just a friend who loves apricot, apparently.” 

“ _Dante.”_

“Does she know?”

Vergil hesitates, letting go of his nose.

“Know what?”

“That you’re Vergil, not ‘V.’”

The silence speaks volumes. Dante’s teasing attitude dissipates, and the man frowns. 

“Vergil…”

“She can’t know. Not… not now.”

“Vergil, if you don’t tell her—“

“I _know_. But… for her not knowing…” 

Vergil can’t bring himself to say it, looking away from Dante back to his kingly duties. 

“For her not knowing… you’re scared of how she’ll react.”

Vergil doesn’t reply, placing his glasses back on. 

“If she likes you enough to deal with your frigid attitude for the last…” Dante counts on his fingers. “Oh, four months, I think she’ll just need time for it to sink in and—“

“I don’t want to discuss this further. Please, leave me be.”

Dante blinks. Vergil, saying _please?_ To _him?_

“This isn’t over, Verge.” 

Vergil doesn’t say anything until Dante closes the French doors. When Dante’s footsteps echo away to mere pitter-patters against the floor.

“I know,” he mumbles.

* * *

Maybe this is a stupid, foolish plan. But Dante can’t pass up one opportunity for something so grand such as this. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Prince Dante? His royal majesty does appreciate his privacy.” Dante’s witch friend, Lucia questions. She has brilliant red hair in a braid, pretty green eyes, and wears a white cape over a plain but immaculate black dress. She holds a bracelet in her brown fingertips, rubbing her thumb across the metal. 

“I want to see him and Cinders together. I have no doubt Vergil can protect himself, but I just… I need to see this for myself.”

Lucia’s eyes soften, seeing how genuine Dante looks. She knows how hard it’s been for the twins, since their mother passed. Especially, from what she heard, for Vergil. Lucia has to admit, she’s surprised as well that Vergil has befriended someone and has been talking to someone not typical of his social circle. 

“Alright…” Lucia hums, palms glowing a warm, off-white color. The bracelet’s invisible runes glow with it, and then fade. “Same with Vergil’s ring, this will bring out your inner self. It’ll last as long as you have the bracelet on.”

Dante nods, taking the bracelet from her. 

“Thanks Luci, seriously. I’ll repay you someday.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

* * *

“V! Hey, V!” 

Vergil and Cinderella pause in their conversation, turning to the approaching voice. Vergil stands straighter, eyes narrowing. 

Dante has now changed, bracelet firmly on his right wrist. His hair is black, like Vergil’s, though much longer and pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes are a mangle of green and blue, skin also pale. He retained his height—six-foot-four—though like Vergil he’s less lean and more like a beanpole. His usual vibrant red is more of a dull shade, and he has a gray vest and white breeches tucked into black boots. 

Cinderella gasps, immediately taken by his appearance. 

“Wait, wait, V, is this your brother?” she asks, turning to the taller man.

“Unfortunately.” At least he recognizes him!

“You must be Cinderella,” Dante greets, taking Cinderella’s hands and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Cinderella flushes, looking away shyly. Vergil glares at him, making Dante grin. “I’m Anthony, but you may call me Tony.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Tony. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, really?” Dante inquires, shooting Vergil an even bigger grin. His glare just gets more intense in turn. 

“Yes! I’m glad you’re just as wonderful in person.”

“Oh I’m absolutely wonderful, madam.” 

Cinderella giggles.

“I have to go buy some vegetable seeds, but I’ll be right back!” 

As soon as the woman is out of earshot, Vergil harshly yanks Dante by the ear. Dante stumbles to his side, but not surprised by his lashing out. 

“What are you doing here like this, you buffoon?” Vergil hisses. Dante waves his brother’s hand off the cartilage. 

“Just wanted to officially meet the mystery girl!”

“You already have!”

“Not in incognito. I won’t mess anything up, ok? Chill out.”

“Dante, if you do anything more droll—”

“I’m back!”

Vergil adjusts his overcoat, Dante beaming in a suave way as he greets the woman. 

“Are we going to the café?” Cinderella asks.

“Of course. Come along.” Vergil holds out his arm, Cinderella taking it gladly. Dante blinks rather owlishly, following them to the café. He’s been to this café before, while being swarmed by women and men. Dante being Dante, he loves soaking in that kind of attention. But it feels odd now, just going there without people giving him a second glance. Well, in an attracted sense anyway. He can _feel_ Vergil’s metaphorical second set of eyes staring him down as if he’s a poorly-written book. 

Vergil pulls the chair out for Cinderella, making the maiden curtsey before taking the seat. 

“The usual, Cinderella?”

“Yes, Mr. V. Thank you.” 

“You, come on,” Vergil says to Dante, giving him a deadpan stare. Dante shrugs in an exaggerated manner to Cinderella before joining his brother. As they walk to the counter, Dante turns to him.

“So, what have you two talked about?” Dante asks, looking at the menu. It’s a moment before Vergil answers, much less venomous than Dante was anticipating. 

“Books, things we like,” Vergil replies quietly, ordering his usual blueberry tea and pastry and Cinderella’s favorites. “She’s an orphan, and works as a scullery maid.”

Maybe in a different time, Dante would’ve chuckled at the thought of his brother falling in love with a scullery maid of all things. But the genuity of his confession really throws the man for a loop. There’s such a… tender look on his face, this soft expression oh-so rare. He can’t even bring himself to tease him. 

“How long have you known each other?” Dante questions after ordering. The two brothers begin to walk back to the table.

“Since August. The same day I first started this… escapade.”

“I see. She seems like a great woman.”

Vergil takes a longer time, then with the smallest of smiles, while looking at the woman of the hour,

“She is.”

* * *

“I must be going, but it was great to meet you, Mr. Tony.”

“Well, my brother and I must be taking our leave too, then. He’s got things to do, I’ve got swords to clang with.”

“You work at the castle too?”

Dante turns to Vergil with a quirked brow. 

“Yes. I’m part of the royal guard.”

“Oh! Do be careful then.”

“Always, but for you saying it, I’ll be even more careful than usual. Don’t want you to worry.” Dante presses his lips to Cinderella’s knuckles, making the girl fluster again. Vergil glares at him, making Dante simply grin as he does. 

After Cinderella leaves, Dante turns to his brother as they head towards the palace.

“You should ask her.”

“Ask her what?”

“To go to the ball.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Vergil—“

“V doesn’t exist, Dante. I must be there as the king. And…”

“You’re still afraid.”

“I’m not afraid!” Vergil denies, pinching the bridge of his nose again. Dante tsks, seeing the notch in between his brows form. “I just don’t want her to think she has to treat me any different.”

“Then… talk to her?”

“Dante, do remind me how she treated _you_ in the forest.”

Dante sighs.

“I can’t tell you how to live your life. But if you keep running from things like this Vergil, you’re gonna keep missing opportunities for good things. That’s all I’ll say.”

Vergil doesn’t reply. Not even when he slips off the ring and Dante slips off the bracelet, reverting to their true looks. He just breaks away, going off to his study.

Dante watches with a frown. But he knows that what he does best would not help right now.

So, he does his second best. He gets his pistols, and leaves for the shooting range.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LUCIA DESERVES BETTER!!!!
> 
> Anyway we're so close to the ball I'm so excited aaaa!


	6. Lentils

_ Four months later... _

“Hear ye, hear ye!” 

You look up with V, seeing a royal messenger with two guards. He stands upon a podium, usually unused. He unrolls a long parchment, clearing his throat as the people of the town quiet. 

“Know, in a week from today, by order of the late queen and our current majesty King Vergil of the House of Luzi, there will be a royal ball.” Quiet chatter begins to rise amongst the citizens at this news. “At said ball, due to traditional custom, the king shall choose a bride no matter her status. Noble or commoner, every single person is invited to attend.”

The crowd erupts, eligible maidens going to and fro at this news in excitement. It was like bees in a hive, women and men buzzing around at this announcement. 

“A royal ball…” You murmur, feeling the excitement yourself. 

“Will you be attending?” V asks, looking down at you.

“I do hope so. Will you?”

V’s lips thin for a moment before a small smile appears.

“Yes, I will be there.”

* * *

“Madam! I am happy to announce that there will be a royal ball in a week from today! The king shall choose a bride!” You announce to Isabella, Anna, and Scarlett. The two sisters jump from their seats, Isabella letting out a gasp.

“A royal ball?” Anna cries cheerfully. “Ooh my,” she titters, unfurling her hand fan to fan herself.

“Imagine it, I, a queen,” Scarlett swoons, also unfurling her hand fan. 

“Or I, a queen.” Anna beams. Isabella smirks, then frowns as she sees you still in the doorway.

“Why are you still here? You’ve given us your news, now go back to town and tell that wonderful seamstress to make three ball gowns.”

“...Three?” you question, hope swelling in your chest. “That’s so kind of you.”

“What drivel are you spewing now?” Isabella asks, crossing her arms as she turns from a mirror.

“To think of me,” you reply softly.

“Ha! Mother, she thinks the third gown is for  _ her _ ,” Anna exclaims with a laugh. 

“Well of course the third gown is not for  _ you _ , Cinderella. No king would want your dirty looks in his sumptuous castle, in his exalted presence,” Isabella snaps, rolling her eyes. You shrink back at her aggressive tone. “One gown for Anna, one for Scarlett, and one for  _ me _ , not you. Now get there,  _ now _ before the seamstress is drowning in work!” 

You hurry off as Isabella trails after you, handing you money. You sigh, rushing off back to town.

* * *

The day before the ball, you go back to Isabella, trying to stay calm as you ask her your request.

“Please, madam, I want to meet someone. Not the king, not the prince, no one royal. Just a friend who works there. I will not get in your way, and in fact I hope the sisters get a chance to dance with him. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Isabella regards you with a cold and calculating look, and then smiles with an icy smirk. You shrink back, preparing for her voice to raise. 

“I suppose.”

Your head shoots up.

“If you do some extra things. First, the dresses should be done today. Go to town and get them. I shall expect you to be home in no less than three hours. She sent a letter yesterday saying she'd be done by five.”

“Yes, madam.”

So, you go to town. Unsure what to do, you wander a little. You didn’t expect V to be there, but there he is, sitting in the usual bench. He reads a different book today, but you can’t tell what.

“Mr. V!” you call cheerfully. V looks up and smiles, closing his book and tucking it into his overcoat’s pocket.

“Hello, Cinderella. I was hoping you’d be here today.”

“Really?” you ask, rubbing your nose nervously. “Why?”

“Can we speak alone?”

“Of course. Follow me, I know where that can be done.”

You lead him to the nearby meadow, just outside the town. No stragglers are around; you two are completely alone.

“What is it?”

V is quiet for a moment, and he even cannot look at you directly, instead leaning down to pluck a wildflower.

“Do you think you’ll go to the ball? Changed your mind?” he asks, twirling the wildflower between his fingertips. 

“It’s very possible now, yes. I’ve been mending an old gown of my mother’s. It’ll be done by tonight.”

V nods.

“I am a bit anxious I’ll admit. I haven’t danced in years. I don’t know if I’ll be very good at it still.”

V finally looks at you, and for a long moment, all you can hear is the trees shaking as the wind blows through. You blink in surprise as V approaches you, and you swallow thickly as his hand reaches to your hair. You’re speechless as he places the wildflower behind your ear, making sure it stays before pulling his hand away.

“I could practice with you, if you’d like,” he murmurs. Your heart skips a beat at how close he is, practically smelling his mint and petrichor scent. 

“Um… if it won’t…” You try desperately not to stutter, cheeks warming as you rub the bridge of your nose.

“It won’t.”

You swallow once more, then nod, curtseying. V chuckles, bowing low to you and holding out his hand. You hesitate for only a moment, before gently laying your hand into his. Carefully, he pulls you to him, and then wraps his arm around your waist. You inhale, exhale, then allow him to lead the dance. 

You rest your hand on his shoulder, or as best as you can despite the height difference. He holds your waist gently, free hands clasping together as you begin to sway and move. You spin in circles, him occasionally twirling you under his arm. For a moment, you hesitate once more to look at his face. 

When you finally do, your heart palpitates with the look in his eyes. It’s a look you haven’t seen in so long, ever since you were a little girl. A look you never thought you’d receive. 

There’s another spin, and at the end, V dips you and you close your eyes. You can feel his hot breath fan across your face, his proximity making you swallow again.

You open your eyes just a little, your noses brushing at the tips. You lean just a little closer, unwilling to make him uncomfortable but also very willing for something more. However, V doesn’t reciprocate the gesture.

“When you see me again,” he mumbles. “I will not be the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will not be the same man, in appearance. All I ask is for your trust and faith in me that I will be the same man in personality and mentality.”

V sets you upright, and you look at him rather flummoxed. V gives you this look that you can’t describe, but you know somewhere in it there is heartache.

“I trust you,” you finally say, regarding him with a comforting look. V nods, closing his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Of course.”

When V leaves you in that meadow, your hand brushes upon the flower he so kindly tucked.

* * *

After bringing the dresses home from the seamstress, your stepmother forces you into so many chores at once. Laundry, cooking, mending and shining shoes and clothes. And when you  _ do _ eventually finish, Isabella just simply smiles. She heads over to the pantry, takes out a whole jar of lentils and…

Throws them right into the ashes from the doused fire. 

“Clean all of those up, and you will go to the ball.”

Isabella leaves the kitchen, and you place your hands on your cheeks. There were at least a few hundred lentils in that jar. You sigh, eyes becoming a little misty as you begin to pick out each one. 

About a half an hour in, a familiar cawing cries from outside, along with batting at your window. You gasp, dropping a few lentils on the floor as you look over.

“Patricia! Patricia, shsh.” You rush over, opening the window for her. She immediately flies in, circles around the fireplace once and then lands. Without uttering another call, she begins picking out the lentils with her beak. “P...Patricia?” you inquire, confused. You look around, hearing other sounds. Your mice friends come out of hiding, also joining Patricia in picking out the lentils. You watch, flabbergasted as in just ten minutes, all the lentils are picked from the ashes.

Tears well up and fall from your eyes, hands shaking as Patricia hops over to you. She nuzzles your legs, the mice joining her and nuzzling you, happy squeaks coming from them.

“Thank you,” you sob. “Thank you so much I…”

They do not reply, as they are animals.

But they know your message all the same.


	7. For you shall go to the ball

The day of the ball arrives the moment you open your eyes, and there’s an extra spring in your step as you go to feed your stepfamily breakfast. Your stepsisters get ready in Anna’s room, as you help corset them and put on their crinolines and make up and the like. 

“Now dearest sister, I think we should have a friendly rivalry come this ball,” Anna proposes. Scarlett titters.

“Ah yes, sister, friendly indeed. I would not imagine poisoning your tea before we leave.”

“Nor would I imagine pushing you from the carriage as we are brought to the ball.” 

The two sisters laugh, and you can at least smile a little at their playfulness. 

“Oh, King Vergil, thank you for your hand,” Anna swoons, a dreamy smile on her face. You help tighten Scarlett’s crinoline as Scarlett hums to herself. The two sisters swoon together, dancing as they imagine what it’s like to do with the king. You just watch, a little giggle leaving your throat.

Then, of course Scarlett takes a fake tiara, trying it on.

“No, let me!” Anna cries, and the two wrestle over it. Your smile falls as the tiara breaks, and the two begin an argument. 

This would be a long day.

* * *

“My two gorgeous lovelies. Ah, seeing you now, I have no doubt one of you will ensnare the king’s heart,” Isabella sighs joyfully, now wearing a long green dress with yellow opera gloves and a yellow feather in her hair. Anna wears a yellow bell shaped dress and Scarlett wears one that’s orange, ribbons in their hair. Their hair and makeup is all done neatly, going finely with their looks.

“Wait! I picked all the lentils, and finished all my chores,” you call. You’re now in your mother’s old pink dress, a simple gown that wouldn’t attract attention as promised. You did your hair as best as you could, but you wear no makeup. The stepfamily glare at you, Anna laughing cruelly. 

“Cinderella at the ball! No one wants a little scullery maid as a bride.”

“Cinderella…” Isabella growls.

“Please, like I said, I don’t want to meet the king, or the prince, or anyone important. Just a friend. I won’t bother any of you.”

“And you certainly won’t meet anyone, because you’re not going.”

“But I did everything you asked… and everyone is invited, by order of the late Queen Eva and the current King Vergil.”

“And they are who I’m thinking of. Even now, in your rags and dirty features, it would only be an insult for you to even get near their presence.”

“Rags? This dress, it was my mothers.”

Isabella guffaws, striding up to you. You swallow and shrink back.

“No, no, dear, these are _rags_. They’re practically falling to bits and pieces!” 

And with a magnificent, gut-wrenching yank, Isabella _rips_ off the sleeves you just mended. You gasp, Isabella moving too quickly as she yanks more fabric from the gown, tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. 

“See? Rags. As you are just a _scullery maid_. Nothing important, nothing bright and grand.”

“But why? How could you do this? It cost you nothing, it was just…”

“Cinderella, you will just embarrass my poor daughters. They’ll lose their chance with both the king and the prince and I will not have that happen. Now, away with you. I’m sure you have animals to talk to and dreams to get lost in. As that is all you’re good for; being an insufferable wench. Now, heed my words; you shall _not_ go to the ball.”

You’re left speechless, a lump building in your throat as your stepfamily leaves. Isabella slams the door behind her, a callous echo running through the building. 

You stand there for what feels like hours, until finally, it comes rushing at you at light speed. The tears come quickly then, and your feet carry you into the outside garden. A sob rips from your throat, then two, then three more. You trip and fall to the fountain in the middle of the garden, and you clutch the cracked marble. 

“I’m sorry mother, father,” you sob. “I cannot do this anymore!” 

You bury your face into your arms and cry and cry and cry. It feels like hours until a familiar caw graces your presence. Feathers tickle your arm, and you glance up at Patricia. 

“Looks like I won’t be seeing Mr. V tonight… he’ll be awfully upset, won’t he?” you sniffle, inhaling shakily. Patricia nuzzles against your cheek, effectively drying some of your tears. “Ah, don’t worry about me. I’ll just… get some dinner and go to bed.”

And you would’ve. But Patricia decides no, your hair looks rather tasty. She yanks you by said locks, making you yelp.

“He-hey! Why did you…” 

Patricia begins to glow a brilliant shade of gold right before your eyes. You lean back on your knees, palms hitting the grass as your eyes widen. The raven caws and then disappears into the light. It shapes, forms, grows, and then with a burst of color, the raven is no more. 

Instead, who balances on the fountain is a beautiful, young, familiar woman. Her hair is golden, curling down to her chest. Her eyes are a bright green, skin slightly tan. She wears a long, black dress with golden accents that swirl and meld amongst the feathery fabric, a pair of raven wings folded down against her back like a cape. With a yank and a flick of her wrist, she holds a golden wand with a black swirling pattern around the rod shape. 

You blink once, twice, all in disbelief.

“What…?”

“Dry your tears, dust off the dirt, and pick yourself up. There is work to be done,” the mysterious woman says, floating off the fountain where her bare feet hit the grass. She gently helps you up, producing a handkerchief. You quietly thank her and dry your tears as requested. “The name is Trish, no ms attached, and I am your fairy godmother.”

“My what?” you ask, handing her back the handkerchief.

“I know you’re not deaf, little lady. I’m here to help you get to the ball.”

“But… but fairy godmothers—“

“Don’t exist? Don’t give me that bunkum, I wouldn’t be here if you truly didn’t believe anymore. Or rather, it’d be much harder for me to manifest. If you don’t believe me, well, I’ll simply have to prove it.”

Trish begins to walk around the garden, and you follow her in a slight daze.

“We need a coach to bring you to the palace. Now, do you grow any fruit or vegetables?”

“Um… yes, a few.”

“Beef tomato? Watermelons? Artichoke? Kumquat?”

You shake and say no to each, then hum.

“We grow pumpkins in the greenhouse.”

“Hm… my sister was much better at squashes, but I’ll try anyway. Follow me.” Trish opens the greenhouse’s doors, and you follow. “Hm… that one, yes. Do you have a knife?”

You grab the knife from the bench, handing it to you. She gives you her wand without a care, and you hold it at arm's length as it sparks with electricity. She cuts the stem with the knife, then picks up the pumpkin with ease. She then sets it down on the bench.

“Yes, we’ll do it in here. Hand me back my wand.” Trish says, casually throwing the knife back on the bench beside the pumpkin. You do so, stepping back as she swirls it, electricity sparking from the wand. “Do close your eyes, there’s a brilliant flash when surrounded by reflectives.”

You do so, and you hear a magnificent buzz before a thunderous _BOOM_ echoes. But it doesn’t hurt your ears.

“Alright, I think we should leave now.” You open your eyes, said eyes widening almost immediately as the pumpkin begins to rapidly grow in size. “Hurry! We don’t have much time!” 

You and Trish race out of the greenhouse, taking cover behind a wheelbarrow full of hay. There’s a louder explosion, and you peek over said hay. 

The greenhouse explodes along with the pumpkin, but instead of laying on the ground, the parts of house and pumpkin swirl around each other in a brilliant golden light. Soon, a pumpkin-shaped carriage builds itself out of the mess, ornate and glowing under the low light. 

“You… you really are my fairy godmother…” You gasp, lips parting in shock. Trish laughs, slapping your back. You wince but don’t say anything. 

“I don’t do this for just anyone, little one. Now, where are those mice?”

“Mice?” you inquire. You two step out from behind the hay, and she wanders around for a moment before finding the four by the fountain. 

“Ah-ha!” And with a graceful flick and electric buzz from her wand, the mice begin to grow in size. You watch, marveled at the spectacle as your littlest friends become giant white horses. “Four white charges.”

“You all look so wonderful,” you compliment, petting their fur. 

“Carriage, charges… mmm, footmen!”

“Footmen?” 

Trish turns, and grins. You look her way, seeing Shadow and another animal friend of yours, a raccoon by the name of Winston.

“Not of the same species, but they’ll do.” Another spark of electricity, and instead of a raccoon and a black cat, stands a stout man and a tall, burly woman. The man, who is Winston, has black hair, pale skin and warm brown eyes. He wears a gray overcoat with black stripes, the same for the rest of his attire along with a brimmed hat with a gray feather. 

The woman is much taller, with long curly black hair in a braid and reddish eyes. She’s got a lot of muscle, and is slightly tan. She wears something similar to Winston, only it’s all black with only a red ribbon tied around her neck. Shadow.

“Winston, Shadow, you’re human!” you gasp.

“I suppose we are!” Winston says, turning his hands around with awe. Shadow just smiles, nodding at you kindly. 

“Now, a coachman.”

“Coachman?”

“That rooster!” 

Griffon is the one targeted, though he tries to run away from the electricity. Instead, he flies up, up into the air, and in a burst of blue light he’s a skinny but short gentleman. His hair is red, eyes an amber shade. He wears a blue feathered suit with a long, white cravat and a blue feather-lined hat and riding gloves. He grunts, hitting the hay.

“Couldn’t cha have done that a bit more easily, lady?! Good lord!” Griffon squawks. “I’m a rooster, not a driver, you crazy wench!” 

“You are now. Get in place, all of you!” Trish shoves them along to the front of the building. They hurry off, even a reluctant Griffon. 

“Wait, Trish!” you cry. She stops at the arch of the garden, lifting a golden brow. “My dress… I can’t go in this.”

“Ah, yeah, don’t worry, I am going to turn it into something different—”

“No! I’m very grateful for everything but… this was my mothers. If it’s something new then… she won’t be there with me.”

Trish hums, turning fully to you.

“Well, can I at least make it a little more… stylish? Perhaps a different color? Blue wouldn’t look bad on you.”

You shake your head, a smile gracing your face.

“As long as it’s mended.”

Electricity sparks from her wand, but instead of the usual dramatic sparks and loud explosions, a soft noise echoes from the rod. Butterflies follow with the glitter, swirling around you and the dress. You watch in awe as the pink begins to glow, a much more puffy dress beginning to grow out of the dress. Unable to help yourself, you twirl with the butterflies. 

Instead of the plain pink, in its wake is now a bright blue dress that flows out, like an upside down rose. Puffy sleeves hold it up, the butterflies landing on said sleeves. The dress is incredibly gorgeous and elegant, sparkling and changing shades of blue with every movement. You feel like a dream. Sparkles are also now in your done hair, minimal makeup on your face. 

“So? How’d I do? My sister’s always been better at dresses but…”

“Not another word, Trish. It’s beautiful. My mother would’ve loved it,” you reply in awe. 

“Good, now off you go, quickly!” 

Trish leads you to the carriage, and you carefully pick up your dress as you race after her. You can hear Griffon complaining all the way up to the carriage, making you giggle to yourself. 

“Stop that coach, birdbrain!” Trish calls.

“Hey!” Griffon huffs. Winston and Shadow open the doors to the carriage, and you step up on the step.

“Hold it!” 

You pause, her wand pointing at your dirty dull blue slip-ons.

“No one will see them.”

“Nonsense. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s shoes. Take them off, hurry.”

You smile with amusement but do as she asks, slipping off the shoes. She tsks tsks, before swirling her wand in the air. Butterflies encircle your feet, and they land on newly made glass heels. They sparkle and glitter in the dim light, and you admire them.

“Glass?” you inquire softly.

“Quite comfortable too, aren’t they? Now, hurry on, get her in.”

Winston and Shadow do so, and you sit down on the seat. The two shut the door before moving to the back of the carriage, holding onto the poles.

“Now! One last thing before I send you off. The magic can only last so long in this state. At the stroke of midnight, by the last echo of the last bell, the spell will be broken, and everything will go back to the way it was. So make sure you keep your eyes on the time. Also, do not worry about your stepfamily. They will not know even a slight hint of who you are.”

“Midnight? That’s way more than enough for me,” you say confidently with a beam and misty eyes. “Thank you.”

“Good, good. Now, it’s time to head off, and have the time of your life. For you _shall go_ to the ball. Coachman!”

“Griffon!” the rooster-turned-man snaps. Trish rolls her eyes, but Griffon does as she asks. You lean out the window, waving energetically and crying goodbyes. Trish waves back, an elegant smirk on her face as she disappears in a zap of lightning. 

You lean back, admiring the ornate golden carriage. To think, this was once a _pumpkin!_

Twenty minutes later, and you arrive at the front of the palace. Shadow and Winston open the doors, helping you out of the coach. 

“Isn’t this all so beautiful…?” you say softly, watching as fireworks flash overhead. 

“Very,” Winston agrees. You stare upwards at the stairs to the door, swallowing and scratching your nose nervously. 

“What’s wrong, toots?” Griffon asks, leaning back in his seat.

“I’m just… so terribly anxious,” you reply honestly. Griffon lets out a squawk of a laugh.

“Sister, you earned this night. Take out the buzzing and just go on with it!” 

“But what if—“

“No more what-ifs, madam. I used to be a raccoon.”

“Kitty back there a kitty, and I a rooster! Point is, go enjoy it while it lasts! I know I certainly will.” Griffon nuzzles back, placing his hands behind his head.

“It’s for all your kindness. You helped me get some pizza once,” Winston reminds. You laugh gently. 

“I suppose I’ve earned a night. I just wonder what Mr. V meant by him being different.”

“That Shakespeare guy with the funny book? Don’t worry about it.” Griffon waves. You snort.

“That’s certainly not how I described him to you.”

“But it’s my interpretation. Go, woman. Enjoy your night.”

Shadow hugs you, and you hug her back. She nods, gesturing to the stairs with a kind light in her eyes. You nod back, and with a heavy inhale and exhale, you begin to climb the stairs. 

It takes a minute or two to reach the top, but once you do, you can’t help but flush under the guard’s gaze. They open the door for you, and you hurry down a golden hall, more guards standing straight as they keep watch. You go to the closed door, tracing the flowery patterns with your eyes.

You inhale, and exhale once more.

“I earned this,” you quietly remind yourself. 

And with that, you knock politely against the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winston belongs to the wonderful Varen! Thank you for allowing me to use the precious boy
> 
> Anyway, decided to update with TWO chapters since I want to get to the ball quickly, but I left the 7th chapter off like this for a reason hehe
> 
> Also I'm not being subtle like at all. I think you all know who Trish's sister is. Also, decided to mix a little whimsy into her personality from the first game.
> 
> Also yes, that's the dress and shoes from the live action film. They're too perfect, too beautiful and immaculate to resist.


	8. Blue Rose

“So, how are you telling her?”

Vergil looks back at his brother as royal seamstresses help him get ready. For tonight, he would not wear blue as he usually does. Instead, he wears a purple royal jacket with golden bramble design, white breeches, and black boots. And, as per the tradition, his katana, Yamato, is strapped to his waist. 

Dante, on the other hand, is dressed in a much more vibrant red royal jacket, with a silver vine-like pattern and black breeches into black boots. Rebellion, his claymore, is strapped to his back.

“Yesterday I told her I would be someone different. What will happen after that I will not divulge.”

Dante rolls his eyes. Vergil usually has a plan, so Dante hopes it’s just Vergil being stubborn about his feelings like he typically is. 

“Your majesty and highness, the ball begins in twenty minutes,” a rich, deep voice says. 

“We’re almost ready, Duke Ark! Don’t mind us.”

“Just reminding you.”

After his footsteps fade away, Dante huffs.

“You really had to invite creepy old Arkham?”

“He was a friend and advisor to mother and father. Of course I had to.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, we’re sure she’s coming, right?”

“She told me she’s mending a gown her mother once wore. So I’m sure she’ll be here tonight.”

Dante grins, pointing at himself with his thumb.

“I’ll be your eyes in the sky then!”

* * *

Dante stands on a balcony, watching as royalty of all kinds and commoners of all kinds begin to stream in. An announcer announces them one by one through card reading, each person taking a bow and/or curtsy. Dante sighs, leaning on the railing as he places his chin in his palm.

“Something the matter, Prince Dante?” Arkham asks, appearing from behind a curtain. Dante isn’t disturbed in the slightest, just shrugging. Arkham is a tall, pale skinned man wrapped in dark green noble clothing. A Duke and friend to Sparda, he’s been close to the royal family as far as anyone could remember. He was even with Sparda during the fatal hunting trip, and tried to save his life. 

Vergil feels at least a bit of gratitude towards him. Dante, however, finds him rather creepy, especially as when he was a child, he saw the balding man try to woo his mother in private. Eva never fell for him, thank the gods. 

“Just waiting for someone.”

“Who would that be?”

Dante decides to be cryptic, shrugging. “My future sister-in-law.”

Arkham nods, heterochromic eyes raking across the crowd. 

“That’ll be up to King Vergil, would it not?”

“Of course, of course. That’s the point.”

Vergil bows to every noble he meets, making short conversation before moving on to the next. Princess Katherine, or “Kat” for short keeps his attention for a little while longer, though Dante knows it’s for a different reason. Kat’s parents kept trying to form an arranged marriage with Vergil while Sparda was still alive, but the former king never agreed to it. Even when he seemed to start to reconsider, he passed. However, this did lead to Vergil and Kat having a platonic relationship, Kat seeing Vergil as a brother of sorts through letters.

Dante has to admit, Kat _is_ pretty, and in different circumstances, he wouldn’t have minded her being his sister-in-law. She has short brown hair in a bob, grayish-green eyes, and always has a smile and is always kind and gentle. However, other than a few secret occult things—demonology and that sort of thing—the two shared not a lot in common. 

Besides, even if they _did_ , Dante knows that Vergil is awaiting someone else. Someone, of course, being Cinderella. 

But as the night went on, and the last few royals and nobility were announced, it seems that Cinderella might not show up. Or was certainly running late. 

Dante sighs, sitting down in the throne provided for him. He can practically feel Vergil’s worry and anxiety from here, even if his usual cold demeanor would never reveal that. Dante can tell, from the occasional glances he’d give the doors, and the looks given to the crowd. Arkham just simply watches, not commenting much. 

It seems all hope had failed. For the announcer stands, and says.

“Now that all the guests have arrived, it is time for King Vergil to choose someone to have the first waltz with him.”

Everyone chatters to themselves as Vergil stands on the landing of the conjoining staircase where his throne is. Vergil just seems to give in, about to turn to Kat and ask her, but then.

There is a knock. A not very loud one, but still. And then the guards open the door. 

And Dante shoots to his feet, boots _slamming_ on the marble flooring as his jaw drops. In disbelief, he marches up to the banister of the balcony. 

“What the hell,” he utters, admittedly starstruck.

Same could be said for Vergil. For the first time in his life, his stony features melt away, if even slightly. Lips part, his steel colored eyes looking upon the girl in blue. _His_ color, which makes his heart skip. 

Cinderella, in a ravishing blue gown which swishes against the floor, multiple blues shimmering in the skirt. Every step she takes, these blues meld and shift, the sparkles glinting in the chandelier light. She wears heels, which _click click click_ with such a neat sound. 

But how could you hear this? Of course, from her arrival alone, the crowd became silent. Something impossible surely, but here we are. 

She smiles, slightly anxious, as she bends low, practically on her knees as she bows to the crowd. She also bows her head and closes her eyes, before standing once more. She nervously strokes the bridge of her nose, picking up her dress to keep going down the stairs.

* * *

You feel anxiety wash over you, not seeing V anywhere. No matter where you look, V is nowhere to be seen. For a moment, you don’t notice the king approach you until he clears his throat. You turn, seeing the king stand in the middle of the parted circle. Your heart pounds, only having heard the announcement slightly before.

But the king… dancing with you? No, no, surely not. But his eyes stay upon you, his hair reaching to brush back his starlight colored hair. 

That was… awfully familiar. 

Stomach churning, you hesitantly approach. You keep walking until you stand in front of him, and your gaze goes upwards. There’s a look in his eyes, a bright light in them. A look you haven’t seen since you were a young girl. A look you never thought you’d receive. 

Your eyes widen slightly, the smell of mint and petrichor washing over you.

With a small voice and a swallow, your voice breaks the silence for Vergil to only hear.

“Mr. V?” you wonder softly. 

“I would like to have the honor of being your dance partner, your highness,” Vergil states smoothly, though you can tell he’s nervous. Dazed, you watch as he holds out his palm.

With only a moment’s pause, you take his hand. It’s oh-so warm, gentle, calloused. Just like V’s. There’s this buzz, not electric, just a sort of buzz that pricks your chest.

The music swells, and you find Vergil’s hand moving to your waist. Softly, you gasp.

You both sway to the music in perfect harmony, your heart palpitating in your chest so quickly, so loudly. You were sure everyone could hear it. You duck away from everyone’s looks, but with a free hand, Vergil tips your chin upwards.

“Just focus on me,” he murmurs. And you listen, for indeed, he is a king. But not in a royal sense, not now, with his gentle hand wrapping around your heart. 

He lets you go and you twirl, before being brought into his form. He holds you close, and with a warming of your face you realize how muscular he is in his arms. You two intertwine your hands, him holding your waist as you hold his arm. You two twirl and circle the round space, skirts brushing upon his legs. Your heart trembles as he takes a moment to lean in.

“Nothing will truly stain your beauty bright,” he murmurs into your ear, hot breath fanning across the cartilage. It finally clicks.

“You really are Mr. V,” you whisper. He hums, then twirls you under his arm.

“I promise to explain soon.”

You nod, trusting him to keep his word as he once again walks you around the circle. In a moment, he has you dipped low, making people clap.

“You look gorgeous in blue,” he whispers. You’re too speechless to reply, as he brings you up again. In another twirl and brush of your skirt, he lifts you by your waist as if the dress and yourself weigh nothing to him. Your breath escapes as he spins you around once, twice, the crowd cheering and clapping. He finally sets you down, your back to his chest as he guides your one arm up. Oh gods, he’s very lean. 

He fixes you by spinning you. You quite feel like you’re on a cloud, the dance so light and loose. You’re dancing a simple waltz sure, but this feels as if you are the only two in the room.

He twirls you once more, skirt once again brushing against his legs. He then holds you again, hands intertwining. Everyone claps and cheers, the music finishing. You just stare into each other's eyes, lost for just a moment.

You try to catch your breath, but not because you feel winded. 

Another song swells up soon after, couples and the like moving to the dance floor. You finally catch glimpses of your stepfamily, Anna and Scarlett dancing with two random men while Isabella watches with calculating eyes. She trails from you and Vergil to her daughters. But there’s no familiarity in her eyes or their faces at all. Just like Trish promised. 

A more coordinated dance is presented, and a smile breaks out on your face as you and Vergil dance once more. He extends his arm and you twirl away only to be brought back as you kick high, just as the other dancers are. Vergil finally murmurs,

“Come with me.”

And you listen, following him as he brings you to a room connected to the ballroom. There is no one else in the room, paintings all around the walls. 

“You’re Mr. V? How is that even possible I… even your voices are different,” you question, feeling flummoxed now that the dream has cracked even a tad. Vergil looks genuinely apologetic as he takes your hands into his. 

“My brother dared me to disguise myself as a peasant with a magic ring one of his witch friends made. I truly do apologize. But what I spoke of to you was all true.”

“Magic… ring? Witches?”

Vergil clears his throat, and you feel caught off guard that he looks so sheepish.

“Magic is only known to so very few people due to how dangerous it can be. But I know if I kept it a secret, it would only add to the pile. I know you won’t tell anyone else,” he replies, the sincerity of his statement so tender it makes you melt. “Once again, I do apologize. But other than my name, and my appearance, I never lied.”

“You can speak four languages other than English?”

“ _Je peux certainement, mon amour.”_

You flush at the last part, knowing what that means, but you don’t bring it up. 

“Everything I said was true. I just hope I didn’t hurt you with this.”

You shake your head. 

“Maybe just a bit upset, but not angry, no. I… I can understand why you hesitated to tell me. Everyone has secrets,” you say, remembering how you acted around Prince Dante. Wait. “So that was Prince Dante I met, not Tony?”

“That’s right. Though, I did not plan for him to join us on that occasion. He tends to do as he pleases,” Vergil says with a huff. You can’t help but giggle.

“So V is for Mr. Vergil… I was wondering but I thought it’d be rude to ask.”

And for the first time in a long time it seems, Vergil laughs. Not a belly laugh, or anything dramatic, but it makes you soar all the same. 

“Yes. Also, no more of that Mr. business. You’re allowed to call me Vergil. Just Vergil. No King or your majesty. I am still V just… with a crown.”

“I wouldn’t imagine treating you any differently,” you admit. You then look around the room, taking in all the portraits. “Oh, is that you and your family?” you ask, spotting the late Queen Eva and King Sparda, with two young boys, Vergil and Dante, with them. It's odd but, you swear you've seen Eva somewhere before.

Vergil nods, humming.

“It seems different now,” he states. He turns his head, and you follow, seeing the boys grown up in their own individual portraits. You smile.

“I wish my parents had their portraits painted one last time before they passed…” You say to not even Vergil in particular, more like thinking out loud. Vergil simply hums.

“Have you ever had yours painted?”

“No, not at all.”

“Well you should be painted.”

You swallow, mumbling a shy “thank you.”

“Follow me,” Vergil states, holding out his arm. You grasp it as you always have, and walk up to yet another door. Vergil knocks, and the doors open thanks to the guards outside. 

“So this is your mother’s gown?” he asks, glancing at the exquisite handiwork. 

“Oh, sort of. It’s hard to explain.” You know now that magic is real, yes, but you aren’t sure if fairy godmothers are just as believable as witches. “Wait, won’t they miss you at the ball?”

“Dante tends to magnetize everyone around him. They won’t miss me with his droll self around.” And yet, there’s a fond look on his face.

“You really love your brother, don’t you?” Vergil doesn’t reply, but the look on his face speaks all the same. 

Soon, you two come into view of a gazebo. Your eyes widen, roses and other flowers of all kind tangling around the white structure. 

“This was my mother’s favorite spot. I tend to spend my time reading or writing here nowadays,” Vergil explains, stepping up on the wood. He helps you up, and you spin to take it all in. The full moon shines down upon you, and the gazebo looks over a large pond. Far away, you can hear the calls of frogs and crickets and the sort. An occasional owl hoot, and other noises. More and more flowers grow around it, an expansive garden of every color and hue. 

It’s possibly the most magical place you’ve seen other than your own meadow and forest. 

“It’s the most heavenly place I’ve ever seen,” you admit with a breath.

“It truly is heavenly.” You flush as you see out of your periphery Vergil looking at you instead. You both sit, resting your hands in your lap. “This is where mother would read Dante and I stories as well. She was really fond of Shakespeare.”

“My mother was too… do you think they’ve met?”

“Hm?”

“In… the afterlife.”

“Possibly. Who can say?”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence, before Vergil turns, gently plucking a blue rose from the vines. 

“Wait, you didn’t need to—”

“Mother wouldn’t mind.”

He carefully plucks the leftover thorns as well, tossing them into the grass. He then tucks the rose behind your ear, brushing back your hair. You nervously play with your hands, knowing how close he is now. 

“Well,” you begin softly. “Since we’re sharing names…”

“Your name isn’t Cinderella?”

“No… no it isn’t,” you state. It’s almost painful to admit, having gotten used to the insulting nickname in a rather awful way. You two lean closer and closer, breaths mingling as your noses brush past each other. Nearly, oh so nearly there... “It’s—”

The loud chime of eleven-fifty-nine suddenly rings out. For a moment, you thought you’d ignore it. Vergil knows magic exists, if things disappear now, it would be alright.

But then, with a quick realization, panic sets in.

Your stepfamily. They never stay out past one AM. And they’re still…

“I’ve got to go.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Vergil, I have to leave!” You shoot up, the illusion broken as Vergil watches you, stunned. “It’s a lot to explain, cats and roosters and raccoons and pumpkins and… I had the most wondrous time. Truly magical in all ways. I-I must go, goodbye!” 

And so, without another moment, you begin to run as best as you can in heels and a dress. 

* * *

Vergil wasn’t lying when he said Dante is practically the life of the party. Many vie for his attention, as he swings from woman to man and the like. He dances, talks, laughs—no one misses the king. 

Dante takes a break from it all, people dancing and snacking and the like as he stands at the top of the stairs. He sighs, recalling the dance with a smile.

He’s never seen his brother so taken by someone before. That smile… he hasn’t seen that smile since before mother died. Even then it was a blue moon occurrence. And yet, Cinderella managed to bring it out. Managed to even bring Vergil to _dance._ In _public._ For a man passionate about music as much as his books, Vergil never, _ever_ liked dancing in front of people. And yet, for just a few minutes in time, Vergil looked… looked so _elated._ No care in sight. 

Yeah, she’s his sister now. No turning back!

He looks up with curiosity as he hears a door slam open. Cinderella pushes through, uttering apologies and excuses as she rushes through the crowd. Dante’s lips part, bewildered as she dashes through the expansive room and up the stairs.

“Cinders? What’s up?” he asks. She curtsies to him with an apologetic expression.

“Please tell Vergil I’m sorry again. But I must be leaving!” 

“Wh—hey! Cinders!” 

Dante looks back at the crowd, seeing Vergil look just as bewildered as he as he’s pulled into a dance with a random woman. Another woman shouts in anger, parting from her dance partner. Vergil begins to look overwhelmed, unable to push them away. Dante runs into the crowd, giving the woman a sweet smile before pulling his brother away. The two rush through the crowd, running after Cinderella.

“What the hell happened?!” Dante asks, running with Vergil.

“I don’t know!” Vergil grunts in frustration. 

* * *

You race down the steps as quick as you can, gasping as you feel one of your glass slippers slip off your feet in an instant. It bounces down the steps, to the landing in front of you.

“No, nononono.” You’re quick to hit the landing, reaching for the heel, but then Vergil and Dante are at the top of the stairs, sprinting down with such grace you’ve never seen. 

“Wait!” Dante calls. You look at the slipper and then back at the twins, before running to the carriage.

“Open the doors! Shadow! Winston! The doors!” you cry. Shadow is quick to perk up from her cat nap, and she hits Winston, who jolts from his slumber. They both hop off the back, opening the doors for you.

“Cinderella!” you hear Vergil’s voice call. You give him a sad look as the doors close behind you, Shadow and Winston hopping back on the back. 

“Go, Griff!” Winston yells. Griffon does as he’s told, snapping the reins against the mouse-horses. 

Just as Vergil grasps the slipper and Dante hits the ground, the carriage is already far away, off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I google translated the one piece of French in here I'm sorry sdjekfj
> 
> This is probably my favorite chapter just for how much effort I put in haha. Also, could not resist throwing Kat from the reboot a bone. She's not my favorite, but I thought it'd be fun nonetheless. She'll be a little important later dw
> 
> Also, our antagonist makes an entrance hehe


	9. The Slipper

“Vergil? What in the hell happened?!”

Vergil looks up from the shoe, joining his brother on the ground.

“I really don’t know, Dante. If… she was  _ bothered _ she hid it well.”

Arkham joins them, standing behind them a few steps behind.

“Dante, my horse,” Vergil orders. 

“No, your majesty. This could be a trick; Dante and I will summon some guards and go after her ourselves.” Arkham hurries off to the soldiers nearby. Vergil wants to interject, but Arkham doesn’t know about the past few months, nor of magic. If there was one thing Vergil didn’t trust with the duke, it was that information. 

“Well, she was in a real rush. You went and chose the most exciting damsel out there, huh?” Dante jokes, patting Vergil’s shoulder. “If we can’t catch her tonight, say hello to her at the market for me.” Dante follows after Arkham, Vergil sighing as he once again admires the slipper. It’s made of pure glass, a butterfly perched on the tip of where the foot goes in. It gleams rainbow color in the lighting, even now. 

“Is this even comfortable?” he wonders out loud. It must’ve been, if she danced and even ran in them. He looks upwards at the path once more, mercury eyes softening. He truly does hope he didn’t frighten her. 

* * *

“Hurry, Griffon!” you cry, leaning out the window. You look back up at the gigantic grandfather clock, hoping,  _ praying _ you’d just have a second more until midnight began chiming.

Luck wasn’t on your side at this point, as with another painful moment the bells began to chime, one by one at an agonizing pace. Griffon yells something, but it’s lost on the wind and stomping of hooves. The carriage comes near a steep cliff, and with the speed the ornate coach begins to tilt.

“Be careful, Griffon!” 

“I can’t hurry and be careful at the same time, sister!” Griffon yells at you. You want to shout an apology for being so conflicting, but then the coach begins to tilt too far. You scream, body going halfway out the window. Shadow sees this, her eyes widening as she shoves you back into the carriage with a single hand, making you bounce back against the gold. You wince, head hitting the wall, but at least the coach tilts back to normal.

“Oh dear,” you mumble, rubbing your sore head. Shadow peeks her head in with an apologetic frown. “I’m alright Shadow, it’s ok.”

“Stop in the name of the king!” you hear Dante’s voice echo. No doubt to keep up appearances, you aren’t angry that he’s chasing you. Still, you have to keep ahead of them. Magic is such a secret, after all. You’d hate to break Vergil’s trust. 

“Now it’s your turn to be careful! I don’t think Shakespeare would like his babe to be a stain on some jagged rocks!” Griffon’s voice echoes, and you grin sheepishly as you peek out once more. There is a group of soldiers, led by Dante and you think the Grand Duke, Arkham Caddel. You don’t know much about the latter man, as he prefers to stay out of the public spotlight. 

“Shadow!” you hear Winston yell. Winston points to the lever which currently holds the gate to the town up. Shadow nods, her tail forming out of her coattails. She swishes her back, tail hitting the lever. Winston sighs, watching with Shadow as the gate slams shut, causing a division between you and the hunting party. 

You clutch the window and the seat, the sixth bell tolling. With this, you notice the mouse-horses’ ears  _ pop _ back into being mouse ears. You let out a small noise, anxiety washing over you like cold water. 

_ Seven. _

“Hold on, princess—” Griffon’s voice is cut off by squawking, and you’re fearful to see what’s happening to him. 

_ Eight. _

You hear panicked meowing and the chittering of a racoon, and you close your eyes to try to collect yourself.

_ Nine. _

You take one last peek out the window, seeing Shadow holding Winston by the scruff while her claws dig into the platform behind. 

“Shadow, Winston! Jump off, quickly! This will be turning back into—”

_ Ten. _

You yelp, the wheels of the coach becoming vines as the actual vehicle begins to form and mold back into a pumpkin. You grasp on to anything you can, but soon.

_ Eleven _ .

The pumpkin is now a large pumpkin, with seeds and all. You try to cling to the sides despite it all being pumpkin guts now, pressing closer and closer into yourself as the pumpkin begins to shrink. You yelp, the pumpkin beginning to bounce now that it has no more wheels.

_ Twelve. _

Finally, the pumpkin smashes, and you’re thrown into the air with a shriek. The dreamy gown is gone, leaving you in the old dress, rags and all. You groan, turning yourself to sit. 

“Winston? Shadow? Griffon?” you call worriedly, not really worried about yourself. A rooster croaks behind you, and you sigh in relief. You turn back to see Shadow and Winston walking side by side, Shadow’s tail raised high while Winston twitches his whiskers. “Oh thank the gods. Micey friends?” The mice are ok too, climbing over your skirt. You smile, sighing in relief. “It’s time to get up, friends.”

The mice step off, and you stand. You stumble a little, feet uneven. You look down, lips parting as you see the other glass slipper still on your foot. Tears well up in your eyes as you take it off, holding it to your chest. You then reach up, also finding the blue rose Vergil oh-so tenderly tucked into your hair, and you gently pull it out. Proof that tonight truly happened.

Mr. V is actually King Vergil. Mr. Tony is actually Prince Dante.

You befriended the king and the prince! And you—

The tears begin to fall from your cheeks as you lower the shoe to carry the mice in.

You’ve fallen in love with the king. 

* * *

You can’t help but twirl around and smile, a light feeling in your chest as you prepare tea as the stepfamily requested. You hid the shoe and rose away in the ashes of the fireplace, planning to hide the items upstairs under a floorboard after they all went to sleep. Anna and Scarlett recall the night’s events with sneers and insults towards “the harlot in blue,” as they so gracefully call her.

“She looked so awful.”

“King Vergil truly just let her throw herself at him like that.”

You didn’t mind them. You never saw the looks your stepmother gave you, suspicion rising in her eyes as you hummed and served tea with a dreamy expression.

* * *

Vergil returns to the market the very next day in disguise, anxiety growing by the minute. Surely Cinderella would come here, to explain everything that happened and more. But no, the woman never shows. Even Dante comes at some point as Tony, but even he can’t find her. 

They wait until the market closes, but still no show. So, for the next week and a half, Vergil and occasionally Dante come to try to find Cinderella. Or, as the people have been calling her, “The Blue Princess.” But not a wink of purple, or red for that matter. No dreamy smiles, or talks over books and tea. Vergil abhors the silence.

“Verge, what if something happened?” Dante finally asks what’s been on both their minds. Vergil exhales.

“If something did…”

They keep their half of the shoe on Vergil’s desk, and Dante catches his twin staring at it for undetermined long stretches of time. 

“Did she say anything that would suggest anything?”

Vergil is quiet for a moment.

“I have been mulling over her statement. She mentioned things about pumpkins and different animals…”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

A pause.

“I’m not sure. But it seemed rather important. She said she wanted to explain… did anything weird happen with the coach and the people she hired?”

Dante recalls the night for a moment, humming to himself.

“The gate closed, as I mentioned previously. You know, now that I think about it, the strangest part is that it seemed like one of the footmen used magic or something. She didn’t bend to reach the lever, and yet she managed to hit it.”

The two brothers sit in silence for a few minutes.

“Shadow. Winston.”

“Huh?”

“Cinderella mentioned once about having a feline named Shadow, and a visiting raccoon named Winston, and that’s the names she cried... And she mentioned something about cats and raccoons…” Vergil recalls, sitting up from his desk.

“Wait, wait, are you suggesting those people she hired were once animals?” Dante questions. It’s not like he can truly give his brother a strange look, but it still feels like a strange situation nonetheless. “But Cinderella isn’t a witch, is she?”

“No, I think she would've told me. But someone must’ve done something magical for her.”

The two look at the shoe.

“You know who has a shoe size similar to that?” Dante asks. The two brothers give each other a look, and then Vergil grabs the slipper and off they run.

* * *

“You want me to do  _ what? _ ” a woman with short black hair, heterochromia eyes, pale skin, and a long black dress with a white apron asks. She’s in the middle of wrapping her hair back in a white cloth, preparing for the tending of the palace.

“Come on, Mary, just a little favor?”

Mary glares at Dante, finishing tying back her hair. She crosses her arms, glancing down at the slipper. 

“I’ll probably break the damn thing. I don’t have time for this.”

Dante throws his arm around Mary, making the girl glare at the prince as he gets real close to her. 

“Look at Vergil, just, just for a second. Look at him. Miserable, depressed, little Vergil,” Dante whispers, pointing to his brother. Mary glances back, and while you can’t tell right away that Vergil feels like that, the fact that he can’t keep his eyes off the slipper says something at least. Usually, Vergil and Mary shoot daggers at each other no matter the situation. “It’s just a few seconds of your time, ok? We have a theory, and we need to test it.”

Mary sighs dramatically. 

“You owe me big time, you oaf. Now get off me.” Mary pushes him away, Dante putting his hands up innocently. 

Mary sits down on the nearby bench, toeing off her usual slip-on. Dante takes the slipper from Vergil after wordlessly asking his permission, giving it to Mary. Mary is, to her credit, very careful as she tries to place on the shoe. But for some reason, it’s like the shoe grows an inch or two in size, as her foot slips right in but doesn’t fit.

“That’s… weird.”

“We were right!” Dante shouts in triumph. Vergil looks at the fitting with narrowed eyes, analyzing how that’s possible. 

“Right about what, you halfwits?” Mary carefully takes the shoe off, handing it back to Dante.

“It’s a lot to explain, but we think we have a solution to finding Madam Blue, don’t you think?” Dante asks, turning to Vergil.

“I’m going to look insane,” Vergil grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Not that hard,” Mary retorts under her breath. Just as suggested, their eyes meet in a metaphorical dance of death. 

“Alright, alright, let’s get you two separated before your kitty claws come out. Someone has to make a royal decree.”

And make a royal decree they did. 

* * *

“Hear ye, hear ye!”

Scarlett turns to the announcer along with the rest of the crowd.

“King Vergil of the House of Luzi has decreed that every eligible maiden in the kingdom, commoner or nobility, shall try on this glass slipper.” An assistant holds up a sketch of the slipper. “If it fits the maiden who tries it on, she shall become his majesty’s bride.”

Immediately, chatter erupts. Scarlett’s eyes widen, and she finishes shopping before rushing back to the chateau. 

“Mother! Anna!” she cries, placing down the shopping basket full of things. Anna and Isabella come out of the living room, giving the girl curious looks. “The mysterious wench from last night left a shoe, and whoever fits that shoe will become the next Queen of Fortuna!” 

For a moment, no one sees Cinderella, standing at the top of the steps. Isabella shouting, the two girls shrieking with delight. But finally, Isabella sees her.

* * *

“What are you standing there for, girl?”

“I just couldn’t help but overhear the news,” you admit shyly. 

“Well, you won’t be trying on the slipper. That’s too ambitious even for you.”

“But…”

“You weren’t there. No arguing, Cinderella.”

You swallow, then nod.  _ ‘But I was there!’  _ you want to cry.  _ ‘He’s looking for me! But you won’t allow me to go to the market! I can’t explain!’ _

You leave the room, inhaling and exhaling as you rub the bridge of your nose. Hopefully, you’ll be able to get to Vergil soon. But for now, you must keep up appearances.

After all, to anyone else, magic didn’t exist at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new character enters the fray, and now the hunt begins hehe


	10. Chapter 10

_ And so, the King’s entourage went throughout the entire kingdom, trying the slipper on each and every eligible maiden. But, no matter who it was, the shoe was either too big or too small for their foot. As the entourage grows closer to their last house, the wonderful chateau, Cinderella is… _

* * *

You crouch, shifting the loose floorboard away to reveal your treasure trove. A picture of your mother and father, an origami butterfly your father received, your mother’s old jewelry including both your parents wedding rings, and recently, the slowly wilting blue rose and the…

Fear encases your stomach, making you feel nauseous as you see that the glass slipper is gone. Your heart palpitates, panic settling in your chest as you stand straight. It only takes a moment, but suddenly your door opens.

And there’s Isabella, with your other glass heel in hand.

“No,” you utter hopelessly. Isabella coldly glares at you, analyzing the slipper once more before looking at you again.

“You know what’s awfully funny? Not only can’t you afford this, but it looks so oddly similar to the mystery princesses’ shoe. Down to the glass, and the butterfly. And yet, you were not at the ball that night, Cinderella. Would you explain why this is in your stupid little rat collection?” she asks in such an icy tone you get chills. 

“I…”

“Save it,” she bites. “After all I’ve done for you, to let you stay in this miserable farmhouse and not throw you out. And yet you go against my word. Well, now you owe me. I wish to have noble husbands provided for my daughters, and I to be made head of the royal house. With you around as his little hussie, his majesty has to have his head turned right. Only then will I allow you to go meet his majesty.”

You glare, for the first time ever, you  _ glare _ at Isabella.

“Vergil is not a child. He doesn’t  _ need _ you to ‘turn his head right.’ I refuse.”

Without another word, another thought, another moment, Isabella throws her hand up. You gasp, tears welling up in your eyes as you try desperately to stop her. 

And yet, you couldn’t.

The shatter is the loudest you’ve ever heard, the shards scattering across the floor. Your hands shake and tremble as you kneel, picking up the two wings of the butterfly.

“Why?!” you cry. “Why do you hate me so much?! I’ve tried to be kind, and helpful, and I—“

“Kind? Helpful? Don’t take me for a fool!” Isabella snaps. “I never got my happily ever after. Who’s to say you will have yours as well? When you dream too hard,  _ dear _ , you see those dreams get further and further away.”

And with a ferocious  _ SLAM _ , Isabella locks you away in the attic. 

You let out another sob, holding the butterfly pieces to your chest. 

* * *

Vergil sits, disguised as V with the silver ring on a horse as they await outside the chateau. Dante stands at the door, having knocked already. 

A woman with brown curly hair and green eyes answers, smiling and curtsying in a pretty green and black dress. 

“Your highness,” she greets. 

“Madam,” Dante replies, bowing his head. 

“I am Lady Isabella, I have two daughters Scarlett and Anna. Please, come in.”

Dante subtly turns to Vergil, and winks at his brother before following inside with Arkham and one guard.

* * *

You want to cry out to the guards, cry out to anyone as you hear Dante’s voice downstairs. But you know if you did, your stepmother would insist on the things she requested. And so, you just sobbed to yourself as you held the two pieces of the broken butterfly.

A meow breaks your crying, and you turn to the window. Shadow paws at your window, and you sniffle as you hold the pieces in your hands.

“O-oh, Shadow, hello,” you greet tearfully, walking over and opening the window. She meows again, hopping down from the window, on the seat, and then to the floor. “I’m sorry, Shadow. It seems the ball was all for nothing. At least… at least it’ll become a wonderful memory.”

You walk back over to the shattered shoe, eyes glazing over as you begin to silently cry once more.

* * *

Perhaps, if Cinderella weren’t crying, she’d see Shadow walk over to the floorboards. Lower her head in, and then grab the stem of the rose between her teeth. Perhaps she’d see the cat, now with a slowly wilting blue rose in her mouth, bound back over to the window and make an exit. 

Shadow walks down the roof, hops to the branch of a tree, and then lands gracefully as she could. The feline, with her tail high in the air, casually walks over to the horses. 

No one pays attention to a cat. Even a cat with a rose. But perhaps, with a little wiggle…

Vergil is startled by the sudden appearance of a black cat, a stifled mewl leaving her mouth. Vergil carefully takes the rose from her mouth, analyzing it just as Dante steps back out, looking more than exhausted. Vergil would laugh at the expression on his face if it were not for the familiar bloom. Vergil twirls the bloom between his fingers, eyes narrowing as he looks upwards, finding an open window. He exchanges the rose between his fingertips, pushing the ring into his coat pocket.

“Dante,” he begins. Dante looks up and grins at him as the king takes off the extravagant guard’s hat. Isabella’s eyes widen, jaw dropping at his sudden reveal. “Could you please check the attic? I have a hunch that needs to be tested.”

“Of course,  _ your majesty _ ,” Dante replies with a mock bow and a specific emphasis on the title. Unable to stop him, Isabella just watches with wide eyes and fear curdling her stomach. Arkham stands beside the door, glowering at the lady. Vergil steps off the horse, his scowl especially icy as he walks past the lady of the house. Isabella just shrinks, keeping her distance. 

* * *

“Hey! Cinders! You up here?”

You gasp, jolting as the butterfly wings fall from your fingertips. 

“I heard that! Cinders, hey—“ The knob rattles, Dante making a noise.

“Prince Dante, no,” you sob, stepping away from the door. “If-if you find me, Isabella, she’ll—“

Dante slams the door open, the old door ramming against the wall. You yelp, stumbling. 

“What can she do against royalty, Cinders?” Dante asks, glaring. Not at you, but rather at the situation. 

“Dante,” you say through a shaky breath, trying so desperately to keep your composure. 

“No. Cinders, it’s ok. She has no power over you. Come on.” Dante holds out his hand. He looks down, his glare becoming more icy as he recognizes the pieces. “What did she do?” 

“I…”

Dante gently sweeps the pieces away with his foot, clearing a path for you. You stand, frozen, anxious and fearful. Dante silently still holds out his hand, his glare softening at your frightened gaze. 

“Please don’t hurt them,” you finally whisper, voice broken and aching. 

“We won’t,” Dante promises. You hesitate, just for another moment, and then, with a trembling hand, you take Dante’s calloused palm. He throws you a comforting smile, and leads you down the stairs. 

Isabella doesn’t face you, instead looking upon a portrait of hers with her first late husband. Anna and Scarlett however do, Anna’s face neutral while Scarlett looks rather… enigmatic. You don’t focus on them for long, as you recognize a man in the living room standing in front of the fireplace. 

“Your home is beautiful,” Vergil says, turning to you with the last glass slipper in his hands. Dante lets go of your hand, patting your back and moving you forward. You smile shyly, rubbing the bridge of your nose.

“Vergil, I can’t offer you what a princess can give,” you say, rubbing away stray tears. “I’m just a country girl with no money or especially valuable things to my name.”

“Isn’t it that only the opinion of the beholder can gauge the value of something?” Vergil questions.

“I suppose, but—“

“The only thing I value from you is…” Vergil swallows. “Is your love. If you were to allow me to place this slipper on your foot, I would only ask of you the ability to take your hand. I need no money or anything a ‘princess’ can give.”

You grip your dull blue dress in hand, fighting back tears as you two keep eye contact. His blues are so soft, even if the rest of his features don’t show his feelings. 

“My mother told me to marry for love. At first, I wasn’t sure if that could happen; I don’t love easily. But then I met you, and it fell into place. All I wish is your permission.” He gestures to the heel in his hands, and you swallow and nod, walking over to the couch.

* * *

Dante, if not around others, would’ve probably cried at this point. Growing up with his brother of course, he knows that this confession alone took a lot of courage from his emotionally constipated twin. Especially around others, especially around him, especially around  _ strangers. _ Vergil likes to think it’s a secret, but Dante has always known his brother is a romantic at heart. And seeing him be able to break out of his shell around this group to comfort his love, it was just too significant to not get emotional over. 

Cinderella sits, Vergil kneeling in front of her. Cinderella holds out her right foot for the glass heel, and Vergil gently fits the shoe on.

And of course, as it would be for this shoe, it’s a perfect fit.

Cinderella laughs, a soft, relieved sound as she gives Vergil this adoring look. Dante watches as Vergil’s expression softens for just a second, gently removing the shoe once more. 

“Where is the second one?” Vergil asks, getting back on his feet. Cinderella smiles mournfully, looking down at the ground.

“Smashed,” Dante answers for her. Vergil is only quiet, holding out his arm, which Cinderella takes. 

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Scarlett says the moment you and Vergil step out of the room. You look at her surprised, Anna giving her a shocked look. “I’m terribly sorry, Cinderella.”

Your surprise wears off, and with a smile you say.

“I forgive you.”

And with that, you leave with Vergil, Dante, Grand Duke Arkham, and the guards.

* * *

Once you reach the palace, Vergil leads you to his study to talk alone. It’s a beautiful room, and you admire it all as you two sit on the couch in the study. 

“I will send someone in the morning to collect your belongings. If you would make a list after this conversation?”

“Of course.”

You nervously play with your hands, not being able to look at Vergil as he sighs softly. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You chuckle softly. 

“For the same reason you didn’t tell me you were the king; fear. I didn’t want pity, I just wanted to exist for a few hours as just a country girl who befriended a very kind gentleman.”

Vergil seems to hesitate for a moment before taking your hand, making you flush as you finally look at him.

“Then I will not give you pity, nor will I force you to tell me anything until you’re ready. But I will use all the power I have to make sure you never have to see your stepfamily ever again.”

You smile gratefully, nodding. 

“There was something I did want to tell you, before midnight struck. Well, two things, but right now, one thing is more important than the other.”

“What would that be?”

You lean forward, Vergil meeting you in the middle as your forehead rests against his. His grip on your hand tightens, firm but gentle all the same.

“My name. My true name.”

And so, you tell him, breaths mingling together. He repeats it softly, and it feels so exquisite on his tongue. 

“A name much better than Cinderella,” he compliments. You grip his hand back just as tight.

“Just as Vergil is a better name than V,” you tease. He simply sighs, a little quirk bringing up his lips. You lean closer and closer together, the only noise is of your breath.

And finally, after all this time, your lips finally meet. His lips taste like blueberry tea, soft without any chapping. His free hand tucks some of your hair behind your ear, holding your head close to his. Eyes closed, it’s as if you’re on a cloud. It's your first kiss, and while a little awkward, it still blurs your consciousness as you get lost on his lips. You hug his neck, fingers slightly threading into the bottom of his hair. 

You part slightly, breaths still intermingling as Vergil asks you something next.

“Will you be my queen?”

“Of course,” you murmur, tears springing to your eyes.

And so, you two are officially engaged.

* * *

_ Oh? What do you mean that’s it? Of course that’s not the end of the story.  _

_ Did you really think I’d end it all here? With a duke named Arkham who is neither killed nor banished, with a Mary but no Lady, with a fairy godmother missing a sister? Heavens, to leave it here at a false happy ending would be tortuous, would it not? _

_ Oh, this story  _ does  _ have a happy ending, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not that easy.  _

_ Please, sit back down, I implore you to. There are still plenty of biscuits left, after all.  _

_ Now, let’s cut to a little while later… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got an after story~ It won't be terribly long, just like, about 8 more chapters.
> 
> And then, if you haven't noticed, we got two more stories... Centered on Dante, and then Nero hehe. Possibly a secret fourth in the future, but I won't say who or if it's official.


	11. Adapting

“I’m not sure if you two would believe me, that’s all.”

“Aw, come on, Madam Blue. You gotta admit, it was rather wild that you left so quickly without hesitance and you had employees named just like your little animal friends.”

You fluster, feeling rather timorous as your fiancé—wow, that’s still going to take a while to get used to—and your future brother-in-law interrogates you over dinner. While not trying to be forceful, you know they need to learn the truth. 

It’s been a few days since the shoe fitting, the palace bustling with marriage arrangements. Soon, there would be a royal banquet in honor of your marriage, and other things. Thankfully, you were allowed a hand in the planning. 

“Well, ok. Sorry, it’s just… I’m still trying to let it sink in myself.”

And so, you tell your story, sipping some tea in between. Of Trish, and the pumpkin, and the cat, and the raccoon, and the rooster. All of which have been allowed special stay in and/or around the castle, along with other animals like Wordsworth. Shadow especially shows her face, usually controlling the other farm animals with the presence she’s always had. 

“A fairy godmother?” Vergil questions.

“Yes. That’s what she called herself, anyway. She was the raven I saved the entire time. Remember? I told you about her around Christmas.”

Vergil nods, his nail clicking against the plate for a moment.

“Didn’t mom tell us stories about fairy godmothers?” Dante hums, shoving chicken into his mouth. Vergil sighs through his nose.

“Yes, and you’d moan like you were in pain, complaining that those stories were too boring,” Vergil retorts. Dante grins with nostalgia after swallowing. 

“And then she’d lecture me about interrupting and tell me next time. Those stories were just really similar, that’s all.” Dante shrugs. “Magic women pretending to be birds to prove someone’s worth, transforming clothes or situations, that sort of thing. Always the same, magical story.”

“And yet you’re friends with a witch.”

“Lucia may be magic but she doesn’t transform into a bird.” A pause. “At least, she’s never transformed into a bird in front of me. Hm.”

You laugh at their banter, toying with your vegetables. 

“Trish very specifically said she was a godmother, not a witch. I’m not sure what the distinction would be, though.”

“Maybe the bird part,” Dante supplies, half-joking, which makes Vergil roll his eyes. 

“So, why did you leave in such a hurry?”

“Well, as I said, the magic would only last until midnight. I did want to stay in the end, since you knew of magic’s existence, but… my stepfamily.”

No other words needed to be spoken. Vergil simply lays a soothing hand on yours, and you smile gratefully. 

* * *

“My name is Mary, and I’m your lady-in-waiting,” Mary introduces the next morning. You curtsy to her, giving your name in return. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mary. Thank you for being my lady-in-waiting,” you reply sincerely. A smile reaches Mary’s lips. 

“Wow, you really are sweet.”

You smile shyly, rubbing the back of your neck. 

“So, Vergil gave you really nice quarters.”

You can’t help but agree. There’s a great big window with both lace and dark curtains, the lace white and the dark curtains a purple shade. A nice, blue plush carpet lies under your feet, and there’s an attached large bathroom. There’s a vanity, wardrobe, dresser, and a side table. Your bed is absolutely humongous as well, with purple silk sheets, a canopy and the fluffiest mattress you’ve ever laid upon. In fact, you still weren’t used to it, occasionally sleeping on the floor instead. It cannot be helped; lying for almost two years on a lumpy mattress does that to you. 

“I still can’t thank him enough for it,” you reply bashfully. Mary laughs, opening your wardrobe.

“My lady, you’re to be his consort in a month’s time. I think anything less would be insulting.”

“Still… I’m not used to it.”

Mary’s smile becomes more sympathetic as she cards through your clothes, a lot of it being your mothers, though in the upcoming days clothes Vergil commissioned—which he insisted upon, despite your protests—would be there as well. 

“So, what do you think of the upcoming banquet?” Mary asks, pulling out a blue quarter-sleeved dress and nodding to herself. 

“I’m anxious, but excited all the same. I hear a lot of royalty is to be there.”

“Yep. Trust me, the night will go by quick. I’ve been to too many of them.”

You simply nod, letting Mary lead you into the bathroom. It’s a gorgeous setup as well, with a clawfoot bathtub, toilet, sink, and the like. She begins to fill the bath, pouring in soaps and liquids you didn’t really know the names of. 

With that, you go through a morning routine, and then go downstairs for breakfast.

* * *

“King Vergil,” Mary greets a bit haughtily. 

“Mary,” Vergil greets back with a huff. You look between them, confused, Dante chuckling.

“We’re childhood friends with Mary. They never got along,” he explains as the two glare at each other. “But she’s the only one he trusts with specific tasks, as you noticed. Even if they’re always willing to tear each other’s throats out.”

You give a concerned look, but Dante just snickers. 

“Don’t worry. They care about each other, in their own tumultuous sibling way.” Dante stands straighter. “Well! Mary, would you accompany me to the shooting range?”

“I have to stay with—“

Dante gives Mary a specific look, and Mary rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

You suddenly feel a bit timid as Dante and Mary leave, bickering as they go. Vergil just offers a slight warm smile, and his arm. You take it, and he leads you into the dining area. 

Seeing no servants around, with evidence being that they won’t be around since the food is laid out already, Vergil leans down and pecks your cheek. Your cheeks warm, your smile growing larger as the skin tingles. You turn before he can retreat, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“You missed,” you tease with a small grin. It’s Vergil’s time to flush, his cheeks becoming the slightest hint of pink as he clears his throat. 

You two eat breakfast together in a comfortable silence, sharing glances and brushing of hands. 

“I would like to show you something,” Vergil finally breaks the silence. You look at him curiously, wiping away toast crumbs from your mouth. “I just hope it’ll be as magical as the gazebo.”

“I’m sure it’ll be lovely, Vergil,” you hum confidently. 

He didn’t cover your eyes, but you closed them all the same, even if he hadn’t asked. He didn’t object to the option to hold your hand, to guide you through the halls. If anything, he gladly took to the job, his calloused hands warm and gentle and just as they’ve always been. 

“You can open now,” he murmurs. And you comply.

Your lips part, a gasp snagging in your throat as you take in the sight before you. It’s an expansive library, with several floors and ladders. It’s all in a golden light, with marble floor and large windows which stretch from ceiling to floor with long dark blue curtains. You turn in your spot, taking in the desks and tables. 

“I wouldn’t say this goes unused, but I haven’t been in here in a while,” Vergil admits. 

“Vergil…”

“But as expected, everything in this palace is yours as much as it is mine. I thought I might start here, since I have a moment’s time.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say through a breath. “I’ve never seen so many books in a single room.”

“It  _ is _ a palace library.”

You laugh, beaming at him like the sun. 

“I know where I’ll be visiting a lot, then.”

“I’m glad.”

You hug him around the middle, his hands resting upon your waist. You snuggle your face into his chest, gripping the back of his royal jacket. 

“Thank you, Vergil,” you murmur. 

“Of course, love,” he murmurs back.

And so, you explore this library with your lover, feeling as if you could get lost forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to show reader adapting to castle life! I hope you all see how funny I am in making Mary the lady-in-waiting because I like to think I'm funny but who knows
> 
> I can't believe this story is almost over already haha


	12. Mystery

The first time you met Duke Arkham, it was only a week before the royal banquet. You and Vergil were in the library, simply enjoying each other’s company as you looked through the titles. There’s a comfort in the silence, one you got used to quickly. It’s a welcome change from hearing your stepsisters yell, or your stepmother order constantly. 

It’s a change you’d still need time to get used to--the whole not being with your stepfamily part. It’s clear they left an imprint on you, and not a good one by any means. But with Vergil by your side, you feel you can take on anything. 

The doors opening startles you out of your thoughts, peering down from the balcony. Vergil follows suit, his expression narrowing just slightly. 

“Duke Arkham,” he greets.

“King Vergil,” Arkham greets back, bowing politely. “There is a messenger here for you. Says it's urgent.”

“I’ll be there right away.” 

You two step from the balcony, and with a swift kiss to your temple, Vergil is disappearing into the corridor. Instead of leaving with him, Arkham casually climbs the stairs to the second floor, where you are. You don’t pay any mind, instead thumbing through a random book you selected.

“Your majesty,” Arkham says, knocking you out of your absentmindedness with a jolt. You grow a friendly smile, bowing your head in respect. 

“I’m not queen yet, your grace.”

“Yet.”

You look back down at the book, smile turning a bit more sheepish. 

“Find the library to your liking?”

“Yes! Of course. It’s so gorgeous in here, especially when the sunlight streams in.”

“A lot of these books are from my own collection. I gifted them to your consort after he became king.”

“Oh? That’s so thoughtful.”

Arkham nods, head turning smoothly. You feel guilty for feeling like this, but there was something off about Arkham that makes you a little uncomfortable.

“Have you ever heard of the story of Evangeline?” he suddenly asks.

“Um…” You try to recall. “She was a fairy godmother of myth, right?”

“Yes. Then she decided to fall for a human, and left her duties to marry him.” 

You aren’t sure why he decided to tell you this, and you’ve heard this story so many times from your mother. But you allow him to continue. 

“She bore him children, and subsequently quit from being a fairy godmother ever again,” you finish. "A celebrated romantic tale."

“That’s right.”

“I’ve heard this myth many times from my mother. Is it ok to ask why you tell me?” 

“Perhaps it is a prologue, your majesty. All myths have epic conclusions.” 

You’re still confused as the duke leaves, closing the doors behind him. Perhaps just to get on your good side? It’s no secret you love stories. 

It sticks with you throughout the day, and when you tell Mary about it…

* * *

“Stay away from him.”

You’re surprised by her immediate response. The bite in her tone, the narrowing of her gaze, the way she clutches your nightgown so tightly her knuckles begin to turn white. You’re so caught off guard by her sudden change in emotion.

“Is there something wrong?”

Mary sighs heavily, placing your nightgown on the bed with an angry huff. 

“He’s my father,” she finally admits after a long pause. You blink, lips parting. “But not a real one. I came here to get away from him, and yet he still follows me wherever I go.”

You feel a little silly, having not put the pieces together quicker. They do share the same mismatched eye color, and you  _ have _ heard of a Lady Mary… 

“I’m serious. Even if you  _ really _ have to be in his presence, don’t stand too close.”

You want to ask why, but the angry, dolorous look in her eyes stops you from prying. 

“I understand,” you say instead. 

“Good.” The anger melts away, and Mary suddenly looks terribly exhausted. “May I be excused?”

“You don’t have to ask. Go get some rest.” 

Mary nods, leaving the room with a heavy aura. You frown, sighing as you go over to the window. The moonlight streams in as you open the curtains, the stars as they are—droplets of milk against a dark sky. You sit down on the bed, feeling rather foreboding from her warning. And yet, it’s so strange. Vergil seems to trust him a lot, especially considering he tried to save Sparda from death. 

A small part of you thinks perhaps they just got into a huge argument and haven’t made up. That turns to you wanting to help solve that issue; you and your father barely fought when he was still alive. And when you did have little squabbles, your father would come into your room a few hours later with hot chocolate and decadent pastries from the kitchens. 

But a bigger, stronger part of you denies this good-natured request. Mary looked… so  _ serious _ . Something happened, but she couldn’t say what, that’s for sure. 

Instead, you pull on your nightgown, brushing your hair and stretching. You look outside again, seeing Shadow’s little body pass by. She turns her head upwards to you, and sits, slowly blinking. You smile; at least you still have your little bodyguard. 

* * *

“And for your nosegay?”

You sit with the wedding planners, who have books and the like open with detailed sketches and small portraits. You hum, remembering the blue rose you have stored away in “Songs of Experience,” the same book Vergil got you for Christmas. 

“Do you have anything with blue roses?”

“We do! Blue roses with white roses, forget-me-nots, violets,” the planner rambles, pointing to each sketch. 

“Sounds perfect,” you agree. Once you leave the room, you can’t help but feel just a tad bit overwhelmed. You’ve never planned a wedding, even back then your stepmother wanted you to have no involvement in her wedding with your father. Planning your own? Even more daunting now. At the very least, Vergil usually comes with you to these things.

Of course, though, not today. Arkham has him busy with something, not to mention this was more of a bride affair. Nosegays and your dress… 

Deep down, you wish Trish would return. She made such an elegant ball gown after all; you wouldn’t object to her making a wedding gown, as well. But there wasn’t much to do about it. She hasn’t returned, and left no way of getting into contact. It broke your heart honestly, you do want to get to know her better. She is the one who helped make this all possible, after all.

You keep on moving, eventually finding yourself in the library. You climb the stairs to the second floor, letting out a soft sigh as you pull out a random fantasy novel. 

It isn’t long before you’re not alone. You hear a magnificent creak, and then a slam. You jolt, gandering over the railing. 

Arkham has a book in hand, the cover scratched away as he diligently reads his tome. He never notices you, and you never call out, Mary’s warning churning in your stomach. He leaves the library, still reading.

Wait.

Then what was that creak?

You look around, but see nothing out of place. Confusion turns to worry as you snap your book closed. 

“Your majesty!” 

Another planner, this time for the banquet, bursts into the library.

“We need last minute opinions on the food!”

You hum, smiling kindly, even as your thoughts storm on.

“Just a moment!”

You place the book back on the shelf, taking another subtle quick look around before following the planner. 

You’d have to tuck this mystery away for now, to ruminate upon later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to tell you all that I have never heard of a bouquet be referred to as a nosegay before--in fact, I never heard the term before. I got a kick out of it.


End file.
